The Legacy of Callisto Part 2: The Shadow of Sorrow
by Stayce
Summary: Encountering a pair of unusual travelers on the road, Callisto finds herself a 'guest' of the city of Sparta. With the threat of invasion looming, she becomes embroiled in the city's politics while at the same time attempting to unravel the mystery of a strange new religious cult, and their all too familiar leader. Second part in the Legacy of Callisto series.
1. Prologue: Rich Red Apples

**The Legacy of Callisto**

**Part 2**

**The Shadow of Sorrow**

DISCLAIMER

First of all, the characters of Callisto, Xena, Gabrielle and any others from the TV shows Xena: Warrior Princess or Hercules: The Legendary Journeys are the property of Universal Pictures, Renaissance Pictures, and other affiliates. This work is intended purely for entertainment and nonprofit purposes, and no copy right infringement is intended.

_"Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail."_

_ John Donne_

**Prologue: Rich Red Apples**

"FATHER!"

The voice rang out strong and furious. It echoed off the pure set marble walls of the palace, moving furiously down the long hall, through an immaculate set of gilded golden doors and out into the vast throne room. From there, it seemed to resound loudly as it moved over the thick and luxuriant carpet that ran the length of the room, before reaching up into the enormous golden dome that shone with the same light as the noon day sun.

Zeus was seated alone on a high backed and ribbed golden throne at the opposite end of the enormous chamber to the doors. His back was hunched over a scrying bowl with a rich red apple, the same shade as the fine carpet beneath his feet, held lightly between gnarled fingers and poised half way to his lips. At the sound of the shouted voice, he rolled his eyes in frustration and, with an annoyed flick of his wrist, he tossed the fruit back into the elegantly worked golden dish sitting on an equally ornate stand of the same design.

Why was it he could never have a moments peace? If it was not Hera interrupting him, it was Aphrodite; if not Aphrodite, it was Athena; if not Athena it was Apollo and so on and so on, and always about something small, inconsequential and petty. The list of irritants in his life was endless and not a one of them seemed to truly comprehend the magnitude of his responsibilities. A whole sphere of the natural world was his to control and command, and yet unlike his brothers who were rarely bothered, he constantly found himself inundated with a list of veiled threats, insinuated insults and outright lies that the rest of the pantheon would level against one another. Sometimes he found himself wishing that when he, Hades and Poseidon had drawn straws to decide which of the spheres of the world would belong to them, he had been the one to wind up with the Underworld. At least then, maybe, he would have had a little peace and quiet. Then he remembered Hades' dour temperament and decided that an eternity of irritation was preferable to an eternity in which the sun never rose, and the sky ran black with thunder clouds.

"FATHER, ARE YOU IN THERE!?" the voice yelled again.

With a long suffering sigh, Zeus leaned back to recline in his opulent throne, plush red cushions embroidered in silks and trimmed with a dazzling golden weave taking his weight easily. He lifted one ankle and slipped it over his knee while he slouched sideways in his seat, his elbow resting on the arm of the throne to prop up his chin. It was a posture he had perfected over the centuries of dealing with his many vainglorious children; an affectation of long suffering patience and purest vexation that unbalanced almost all the pantheon save Hera and his own brothers. With his free hand, he began to drum steadily on the other arm of the throne with his fingers, sparks of lightning crackling back and forth between their tips as he did so. It was a little heavy handed to display his power so openly, but then he had found when dealing with this particular voice's owner that heavy handedness could work wonders.

The doors burst open and Zeus felt a small flutter of surprise as two gods entered rather than the one he had been expecting. Both strode purposefully across the room, their perfect figures moving with that same self-assured grace that all the gods possessed in abundance. Even lame Hephaestus could move with an air of dignity and self-possession when he felt the need.

The second of the pair was a woman of singular beauty, her cascading red hair tumbling in wild silken waves down her shoulders, but held in check around her crown by slim golden band. Her figure was lean and strong, all taught muscle and long-limbed elegance. She was clad in a supple leather breast plate and sectioned skirt; all dyed a gold that shimmered brighter than the throne room's dome. On her left hand she wore a flared golden glove, and on the opposite arm she wore a tight fitting three fingered archer's glove and bracer. Across her back was slung a perfectly strung bow and flight of arrows and as with the rest of her outfit, all were gold of course.

Ahead of her, a man strutted, almost so her opposite in appearance that it was difficult to believe that they were half brother and sister. Zeus would not have believed it himself if he were not their father. The man was tall and powerfully built, broad across the shoulders with powerful thick set arms and a jutting jaw that lent him a fierce countenance. His shoulder length hair hung in a thick mass of tight curls and was black as a pitch night sky, yet shone with the same luster as his sister's when the light hit it. Like his father he wore a beard, although unlike Zeus, whose beard was long and luxuriant, his was short and kept neatly trimmed and oiled, running in thing lines up his cheeks to meet his hair at his temples. He moved with the easy poise of a warrior born and bred, and his dress was similarly suggestive. Not as eye catching as his sister's shining gold, he was instead clad in black leathers embroidered in silver around the chest and across shoulders. He carried an ornate sword at his hip, it's pommel a crafted skull, perfectly wrought in the finest silver while the cross-guard was set with a large and flawless ruby that flashed a dark and bloody crimson in the glaring sunlight from the dome above.

"Ares, Artemis," Zeus nodded to them as they crossed the chamber toward him. "How can the king of Olympus be of service to you on this fine day?"

His voice was mannered and polite, but it carried a carefully judged undercurrent of threat that gave both his children pause as they neared him.

As usual they overcame their hesitancy quicker than Zeus would have liked. On the one hand he respected their strength of will. It almost made him proud in an uncharacteristically paternal way. Then he remembered they were gods, that a strong will was practically an in born trait, and that it was that selfsame trait that served to make his immortal life far more difficult than it had any right to be.

"Did you know about Sparta?" Ares demanded angrily. "Did you know about the desecration of my shrines? The burning of my temple?"

"Hah!" Artemis sneered at her brother. "One small temple and a couple of homemade shrines being effaced and he acts as if his worship is failing all across Greece."

She turned to face Zeus, her eyes wide and pleading, the look of daughter begging for her father's aid. It was a look that she had learned a long time ago, and she knew all too well how hard he found it to deny.

"It is I who am the victim here! Ares' pride is merely being wounded but my position in the city is being threatened! The Helot's were always a people devoted to me father. To _me!_" She cast a sideways glance at Ares. "Those great Spartan lummoxes have always favoured my dear brother here, and they always will. Rampant testosterone will see to that. But the Helot's father, the Helots are turning on me in droves. Just this last week, I have lost two temples and a score of shrines!"

Zeus regarded them both nonchalantly.

"And to what other worship, pray tell, have you found yourselves being ousted? What simple hedge god or nature spirit has outclassed the God of War and the Goddess of the Hunt in the hearts and minds of their followers?" His voice dripped with mockery, but in truth he was concerned. He had not expected this, at least not yet.

"It is a cult, some minor nature worshipers most likely." Ares announced with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The Spartans would never debase themselves to follow its teachings, but those tiresome Helots of hers, well, let's just say they didn't take long to turn in my dear sister here for a new model."

He let out a cruel chuckle as Artemis' cheeks flushed red in outrage.

"How dare you..." she began to reach for her bow and one of the quivered golden arrows at her back. She could not truly hurt Ares, and it was more a gesture of annoyance than a serious threat. His family did love their drama and theatrics, but Zeus still halted her with a withering look.

"Artemis," he said, his voice low, "I would ask that you don't shoot your brother. It always makes such a mess of the carpet."

Ares simply snorted.

"As if she could even hit me," he sneered. Zeus ignored him and leaned forward in his throne, to regard his daughter thoughtfully.

"Is all of this true? Are your worshipers abandoning you in favour of some other 'god'?"

"It's not just some other god and it is not just me!" Artemis protested. "Shrines across the city to every member of the pantheon have been defaced! This cult claims they are symbols of a pretender's faith and that the natural order we, the 'pretender' gods have upset, must be set to rights. Does that not sound familiar to either of you?"

Zeus was surprised to hear a tight knot of nervousness in her voice as she spoke, carefully tied off and controlled, but present nonetheless. He lifted his hands, steepling his fingers before his lips and tapping them thoughtfully.

The people in the world below were a superstitious lot. They needed their gods, their pantheons and all the associated rites and rituals that came with them. It gave them a sense of stability and hope to know that somewhere above them all powerful beings were watching and listening to them. In truth the Olympians were usually far too busy embroiled in the seemingly endless clashing of their Olympus sized egos and grand familial disputes to care much for the world below. The majority of the world was less aware of that however.

For something to turn the devoted Spartans and Helots from their principle and patron gods so easily especially a goddess as beloved as Artemis, it would have to be more than just some up and coming new deity. It would have to be something powerful, something established, and more than likely something ancient. His eyes narrowed slightly. He did not even need to think really. He already knew who and what it was which moved against them in Sparta, but he was surprised at the speed at which they were progressing.

"Why have none of the others come to me about this?" he said.

"Artemis and I are the main deities of Sparta," interjected Ares. "Apollo couldn't care less about a couple of shrines there, and nor could Athena, Aphrodite or any of the others."

"And you have not thought to visit some horrific suffering on these fools for turning away from their rightful gods?" Zeus replied, cocking an eyebrow at both his son and daughter.

The muscles in Artemis' jaw bunched and Zeus knew he had hit a nerve.

"Unless..." he continued, and began to lean forward dangerously, "...there is something else you're not telling me?"

Artemis could no longer meet his gaze, instead shuffling her feet uncomfortably as she looked at the carpet beneath her feet.

"This cult," she said finally, her voice tight with just the vaguest hint of uneasiness behind it, "their symbol is a bloodied sickle."

Zeus' eyes narrowed to slits.

"Is it now," he said, his voice rumbling with the distant sound of thunder.

Ares turned on his sister, his voice ringing with genuine surprise.

"You never told me that!" he said.

Artemis stared back at him defiantly.

"You never asked!" she snapped. "And it did not seem you would have cared over much either way."

"But..." Ares blustered, caught unawares by the sudden revelation, "...but you know what this means! All the disturbances, the dead not reaching the Underworld in the correct numbers, the weakening of the boundary, Hades' sudden cloistering of himself in his fortress; it all adds up and..."

He turned back to Zeus, his expression one of sudden understanding.

"...and you already knew, didn't you," he said. It wasn't a question.

Zeus leaned back in his seat again, his pose this time straight backed and imperious, both hands clasping the arms of his throne.

"Of course I did," he replied.

"Then why didn't you tell us all!?" Ares snapped. "You know the danger we are in, the threat this represents! We cannot just sit here! We must marshal our forces and prepare for war! Sparta will only be the first. If this is allowed to continue more cities will follow until our worship and power withers and dies!"

Zeus shot to his feet as Ares finished speaking, the huge sunlit dome above their heads suddenly darkening as if covered by fierce storm clouds, and when he spoke his voice cracked sharply, a lightning strike against the deathly dark and silence of night.

"Do not try to lecture me Ares!" he boomed. "There is only one king on Olympus my son, and he sees all!"

He began to descend from his throne, moving to stand before the God of War so that the two of them were eye to eye. Ares straightened, his teeth grinding against one another as he glared defiantly back at his father.

"I did not tell _you _Ares, as you are the most fairweather of all my children," Zeus sneered derisively at him. "I _saw_ how you, the brave and mighty God of War, trembled before Dahak and that monstrous half breed daughter of his. I saw how you tried to turn on us, all in the hopes of evading your own destruction! Had the time come for you to stand against us, I would have delighted in being given the opportunity to show to you how foolish a decision that was."

Next to them Artemis was staring at her half-brother, a horrified look on her face.

"So it's true!" she said, her voice astounded. "You _did_ try to betray us all."

"Please!" Ares snorted. "The son will always betray the father! That is our way, right back to Uranus! If you had been in my position you would've done the same."

"No." Artemis gave a definite shake of her head. "No, I wouldn't have."

The God of War gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"None of this matters!" he insisted. "If _he _is rising again, the Underworld is under threat. Hades must be warned."

"Your uncle is well aware of the situation," Zeus shot back. "Even now he is testing his strength against our enemy. So far he has managed to hold his ground."

Artemis shifted uneasily.

"If all of this is true, then that would make Sparta a ripe target," she said, her voice tense but thoughtful. "There are many great souls there, some even granted favour by Ares and I. If the city falls, and they with it, it would be a terrible blow to the barrier between worlds. Hades' struggles would be made all that much more difficult."

Ares nodded.

"For once my sister and I agree on something," he said. "Sparta is crucial. In war the winning side chooses the battleground, and I say we choose to stand there. A line must be drawn against our enemies; this far and no further."

Zeus regarded his son coldly.

"It would seem we are all in agreement on what should be done," he said slowly.

Ares smiled triumphantly and was opening his mouth to speak again, no doubt to try and take charge of the battle plan, when Zeus interrupted him.

"What we are not in agreement on," he said, "is how it should be achieved. Sparta is a city of mortals and it is the mortal agents of our enemy that threaten it. While our interests are threatened, we cannot forget our roles."

Ares frowned at his father.

"Your point being...?" he said.

"My point being that you, your sister here, and any of the others thinking to get involved, will not. I am King of Olympus, and I am telling you now, unequivocally, to stay out of this."

"Stay out of it!" Ares practically exploded in outrage. "How can you say that? Our worship; no our very existence is at threat, and you expect us to just sit here and twiddle our thumbs while we wait?"

"I expect you to do as your king commands," Zeus snapped. "The mortal agents of our enemy demand mortal agents of our own to counter them."

Artemis cocked her head slightly at her father, a knowing half smile settling on her face.

"You already have your agent in play, don't you father?" she said.

Zeus turned to her.

"I most certainly do dear daughter," he said. "Nothing is being left to chance."

Ares' frown deepened, his brow now as craggy as the slopes of Olympus itself.

"Who?" he asked, his voice all wariness and caution. Of all his children, Ares was among the most involved in mortal affairs and the god most likely to choose champions for his causes. Those he chose, he coveted above all others, and Xena in particular was his clear favourite. He was no doubt worried that his father had whisked away one of his favourite playthings on some suicidal saviour's quest. Zeus almost laughed out loud as he imagined the look on his son's face when he discovered who his father's chosen champion actually was.

"Do not worry Ares," the old king said, returning to his throne and gesturing to the scrying bowl as he did so. "Your little pets are safe from my machinations; at least for the time being."

Artemis glanced at Zeus quizzically as he settled himself back into his throne, and then crossed to the scrying bowl herself. Standing at her father's side, she leaned over, her eyes widening as she looked down into the shimmering waters that filled the bowl. A broad smile of perfect understanding lit her face and she straightened to regard Zeus, a look of wry amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh father!" she laughed prettily, "This is too perfect!"

Zeus flashed a fatherly smile of approval at her. Artemis, unlike many of the other gods, had always had a sense of humour. He expected it was one of the reasons why she was so well loved across much of Greece. He shot Ares a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Isn't it just," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sly smile.

Ares' frown had become a glower at this point, his dark eyebrows arching furiously. With a frustrated grunt, he followed Artemis to the bowl, placing both hands around the rim to either of it side of it has he peered into it.

Zeus reached down to the dish of fruit he had been eating out of earlier. He watched as his son's expression changed, first to one of confusion, then realisation and finally outright horror. Retrieving the rich red apple he had been about to eat before being interrupted, Zeus lifted it to his mouth and took a large bite, the crunch echoing loudly in the sudden silence of the throne room.

Ares looked up, his face pale and blanched but his eyes blazing with fury.

"You have _got_ to be joking!" he snapped.

Zeus and Artemis both laughed.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well here I am, back with part 2 of my series. This story is considerably more complicated than part 1 and will have a lot more moving parts as the main arc begins to kick in. As a result it will most likely take longer than the previous story to complete and updates may be slower in coming. I'm excited to try and do something a little more epic than the previous story which was kept intentionally small and more personal as I wanted to focus on the changing direction of Callisto's character. This time, we are going to get to see just what it is Zeus had in mind for her for face off against. I hope those of you who enjoyed the first story enjoy this one as well and, as ever, if people have feedback of any kind please feel free to review or drop me a line via PM.

Have fun reading.


	2. Chapter One: A Complicated Question

**Chapter One: A Complicated Question**

The dark stone tunnel sang with the sound of metal striking off natural stone. It was a rich, melodic sound quite at odds with the grizzled grunts of effort that accompanied it as a dozen or more men laboured intensely in the dim torchlight that served as the only source of illumination. They wielded pickaxes and hammers that rang loudly as they broke stone and chipped granite. The air was cool down here, and a welcome change from the midday heat outside. In places, tiny rivulets of moisture would run down the walls of the tunnel the men were carving and, occasionally, drips of water would land within the blazing torches with a sizzling hiss. Despite this, each man sweated with the sheer, back breaking effort of their work.

Pelion leaned tiredly against a notched walking staff, bound with a hessian hand grip two thirds of the way up its length, and watched the men toil around him. Like him, they were dressed all in the thick red robes of their faith, the dark crimson embroidered patterns that adorned them barely visible in the flickering half light. Unlike Pelion, most had pulled their voluminous sleeves up to their elbows and tied them off with long strands of yarn to keep them from slipping back down to their wrists.

He sniffed as something tickled his nose.

There was a strange smell in the air, something beyond the omnipresent musty damp that had been present since he first set foot in the tunnel. This new scent was different, almost sulfuric and he could feel his nostrils beginning to burn from it. He produced a rag soaked in strong scented herbal oils from the folds of his sleeve and held it up, taking a deep inhale of its rich aroma to counter the noxious air around him before replacing it again.

"Do not stop now Brothers!" He announced loudly over the constant clang of metal on stone. "Our faith is being rewarded! We are almost there!"

A number of the men gave excited nods of agreement and redoubled their efforts, the previously staccato rhythm of their strikes speeding into a frenzy of discordant hammer blows and ringing pick axes.

Two of the Brothers hefted large sacks of discarded stone chippings, groaning under the weight of them but squaring their shoulders and beginning the long hike back to the surface to remove the clutter from the work area.

Pelion watched them go as they shuffled up the gradual incline of the tunnel floor, their progress slow but steady. As they walked, they passed a narrow alcove in the stone wall. It had the look of an old side shaft that had been started ages ago but had long since been abandoned. Shadows pooled there now, thick and dark fingers of blackness clawing at the light. At first he believed the alcove to be empty and his eyes slid across it vacantly, but the chill that ran up his spine as he did so made him look again.

On a second examination he saw the other man standing there. Cloaked and hooded all in black robes that seemed to soak up any light that touched them, the shadows clung all about him like lovers, flickering and dancing in the fire light but never moving far from him. They were thickest beneath the folds of the hood, obscuring the man's face from prying eyes and lending him an unnerving, hollow quality, as if he were only made of the robes and shadows and nothing else. The figure cocked his head slightly, as if listening to some far away sound that only he could hear, then retreated back deeper into the alcove, the shadows drawing in tightly around him until he had all but disappeared from view.

Pelion fought to suppress a shiver. Mortius unnerved him like nothing he had encountered before. They had come north just over a month ago, mainly at Mortius' urging. He had not stated the reason for doing so; only that it was their Lord's will that they come here. Pelion had not seen any reason to do so, but at the same time, he also had felt compelled to follow the dark stranger's lead. It had begun to chafe somewhat, truth be told. Pelion had been a loyal Follower all his life, diligently serving his Lord in any and all matters and doing everything that had been demanded of him by his faith.

Sometimes it had meant pain, and others it had meant... sacrifice.

All along though, he had known that one day, the Day of Return would come, and on that day he would be there, the truest of all his Lord's faithful, ready to take his rightful place at his side.

That was until Mortius had been released. The robed and hooded figure was a mystery to all within the Followers, yet somehow he spoke with such authority that it was as if their Lord himself were speaking. He had even stated that he was their Lord's will made manifest. Under his control, the Followers they had joined up with in Sparta had begun to expand rapidly thanks to a careful selection of converts in influential positions within the city's lower classes. Soon the poor and the disenfranchised were flocking to the Followers ranks, lured by the promise of their Lord, a god who would not ignore them, or toy with their affections; a god who would one day return to stride the earth as he had done of old, and crush the many pretenders to his rightful throne as master of all things under the sky.

It had all been Mortius' doing of course. Pelion had wracked his brains trying to figure out how the other had engineered it all. He seemed to hover on the periphery at all times, rarely engaging with the few who saw him, or even knew of him. When he chose to do so though, it was always with a purpose, however inscrutable it might be, and slowly but surely he had begun to mould the Followers into something far more than they had ever been before. Gradually, Pelion had begun to feel the burden of the responsibilities he had carried for so long as foremost amongst the Followers being lifted from his aged shoulders.

And he hated it.

Every time he saw Mortius tilt his head in silent communion he felt a sickening surge of envy in the pit of his stomach. Why could he not hear their Lord's voice? Had he not been faithful all his life? Had he not done everything in his power to fulfill his Lord's wishes? Had he not been the one to free Mortius, the Soul, from his eternal entrapment in the twilight between life and death? Without him, none of them would be here now, and yet he was feeling increasingly swept aside as events spiraled away from his ability to control them.

His silent reverie was suddenly interrupted as alarmed cries sounded from further up the tunnel, followed by angry shouts and the rapid patter of leather soled sandals on stone.

"Brother Pelion!" he heard a voice cry. The two workers who had passed only a few moments before came into view as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, their crimson robes hitched to their knees as they ran in a stumbling and panicked gait over the uneven floor of the tunnel.

"Intruders Brother Pelion!" one of them cried then tripped and stumbled, crashing to all fours on the cold dank stone.

Pelion moved as quickly as he could to the fallen Follower, standing at the younger man's side and leaning heavily on his staff as he bent to help the younger man to his feet.

"Easy there Brother," he said, as the Follower scrambled upright. "Now tell me, what intruders are you talking about?"

"That would be us," came a voice that Pelion recognised all too well.

He gave a mental curse as he shifted his gaze from the young Follower to a group of men who had just rounded the same bend as before. There were four of them, three of them clad in well worn but equally well maintained armour, and carrying swords at their hips. Clearly sell swords, hired on as guards and muscle for the fourth individual, a pugnacious man dressed in fine silken robes but without the bearing or nobility to carry himself as if he truly belonged in them. His face was well worn by years spent working outdoors under a strong sun, and his hands were heavily calloused and creased from at least a decade or more of hard labour.

Pelion forced a warm smile onto his face.

"Master Soriacles!" he announced as if he were delighted to see the other man, when in truth he was anything but.

He leaned forward as low as his joints, stiffened by a day of standing hunched over in the low roofed tunnel, could manage. One hand still gripped his staff for support as he did so, and his knees bent in supplication.

"How can my Brothers and I help you on this fine day?"

"You can start by explaining to me what all this is!" Soriacles snapped, gesturing to the workers who were still digging behind Pelion.

The old priest turned to glance at the men at his back then looked back to Soriacles. He gave the man his best confused frown.

"It would appear they are digging," he said innocently, though inwardly still cursing the misfortune of being discovered.

"For what!?" Soriacles hissed in purest exasperation. "You said you were here to survey the land for construction of a new temple, not to dig way down here!"

Pelion's mock frown of confusion deepened.

"I fail to see the problem," he said.

"The problem is that this..." Soriacles gave a broad gesture taking in the tunnel around them, "...this is_ my_ land! I agreed to let you survey for the temple site since you have been so charitable to the Helots,"

He glanced around him at the men still toiling with their pick axes and hammers.

"I did not agree to you stealing from me!" he finished angrily.

Pelion gave him his finest smile of well mannered patience that so infuriated those not of the faith.

"You think we are here to steal from you?" he said. "What exactly would we want to steal down here?"

"These tunnels are old copper mines," Soriacles stated simply. "They were abandoned years ago, but they are far from exhausted. I've had to chase many a thief from here since I purchased this land. There are a great many more who seek to exploit these resources without paying me my proper due. I just had not considered you amongst them!"

Pelion's smile widened until eventually it burst into a rich laugh of genuine amusement.

"Oh Master Soriacles," he said as his laughter abated. "You could not have it more wrong!"

He reached into his robes and, as he did so, Soriacles' guards noticeably tensed. Soriacles himself only raised a hand to calm them.

When Pelion withdrew his hand, it was clutching an ancient and weathered piece of stone. It was perfectly circular and the face of it had been chipped slightly where a pick axe had struck against it, but the image of a roaring lion was still clearly visible, even in the half-light of the tunnel.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked and flicked the stone circle through the air.

Soriacles snatched it from the apex of its arcing flight and lifted it closer to his eye-line so that he could get a better look at it, his eyes widening slowly.

"Is this..." he began and Pelion nodded in reply.

"We found it just a few hours ago," he said. "It is the seal of Lycurgus, first of the Agiad line."

"But that would mean that the tomb of the first king of Sparta is down here somewhere!" Soriacles said, his voice rising in excitement.

Pelion nodded again.

"Far more valuable a discovery than some long forgotten copper deposits, I think you'll agree," he said.

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash as one of the workers dislodged a large chunk of stone into a chamber beyond the end of the tunnel in which they now stood. Soriacles nearly jumped out of his skin, the stone circle dropping from his grip to clatter noisily against the tunnel floor. He blanched guiltily as Pelion glanced at him and bent to retrieve it, dusting it reverently as he did so.

"I think we've found it Brother Pelion!" One of the workers cried out in surprise and delight.

Without a word, Pelion crossed to the opening, taking a torch from one of the wall brackets as he passed. Propping his walking staff against the wall of the tunnel, he thrust it through the freshly opened gap and into the chamber beyond. He wrinkled his nose as he did so, the sulfuric smell from earlier burning heavy in his nostrils now, causing him to take the oil and herb soaked cloth out again and press it over his mouth and nose.

The chamber beyond was clearly much larger than the tunnel in which they now stood. The dim circle of torchlight did not extend far, but inside he could just make out the base of a marble pillar, carved in the classical Grecian fashion and shining white in the firelight.

"Well?" Soriacles said at his shoulder. "What do you see?"

"What we came here to find," Pelion replied as he withdrew from the gap and handed the torch to one of his fellow Followers.

"Clear it," he said. "We have worked long and hard for this, and we must not tarry now the end is in sight!"

The men nodded and hurriedly began to hammer harder around the fresh opening in the stone while Pelion and Soriacles watched. As they watched, Soriacles turned to his hired guard.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, gesturing to the workers and a couple of unused pick axes lying in a corner of the tunnel. "Get stuck in!"

The guards looked at one another with annoyed frowns. One of them began to open his mouth to speak but Soriacles cut him off almost immediately.

"If this is what we think it is, then I will be rewarded handsomely for bringing it's presence to the attention of the Ephors and the Kings," he said.

The guards just regarded him flatly, and Soriacles gave an exasperated sigh.

"I'll double your pay," he said.

"Well why didn't you say so before!" said the guard who had been about to speak previously.

"Come on lads," he said to the other two men. "We've got ourselves a tomb to uncover."

The three guards moved to join the workers, grabbing the spare pick axes and attacking the stone with a fresh vigour the other workers had long since run out of. Pelion did his best to keep a disgusted sneer from his face as he watched them. Where was their faith? Where was their belief in something beyond what they could truly comprehend? Could they only understand the world in terms of gold and violence? Were they really that empty; that spiritually dead? He found himself wondering how much they would be willing to sacrifice for their precious dinars. Would they sacrifice anything? Indeed, did they even understand what sacrifice, true sacrifice, even was?

Without thinking he glanced distractedly over his shoulder toward the alcove where he had seen Mortius earlier. The shadows still clustered there, seemingly immune to the flickering firelight, but of the tall and hooded man, there was no sign.

A second resounding crash of stone echoed down the tunnel as more of the back wall was dislodged, snapping Pelion's gaze back to the opening that had been created by the workers. Now it gaped wide but strangely, not dark. A curious sickly yellow light shone dimly from within the chamber beyond, and the burning sulfuric smell was now stronger than it had ever been before.

Clutching the cloth tighter he walked forward through the assembled guards and, hitching his robes to his knees, he stepped across the threshold and into the dimly lit chamber beyond. Several workers followed, the guards and Soriacles close behind, bringing torches that they had been using to light the main tunnel with them. As they set foot inside, the firelight from the torches ate away at the shadows hungrily, unveiling the true majesty of the chamber in which they now found themselves.

They had entered through a side wall, emerging behind a long row of alternating marble Grecian pillars and statues. At the opposite end of the room, a similar row of pillars and statues ran parallel to the first. Each statue was of an ancient hoplite warrior, intricately carved down to the smallest detail and then posed heroically with legs parted and chest thrust forward. In one hand each statue clutched a true bronze shield of the finest craftsmanship while in the other they carried a long fighting spear, each one outstretched to meet the spear from a statue on the opposite row so that the blades were touching to form a sharp series of arches.

Cautiously, Pelion pushed on inside, moving out from behind the pillars and onto the chamber's main concourse. At his back, the chamber's true entrance was now little more than a ruined arch filled with the collapsed remains of an ancient ceiling. Clearly it had caved in and become forgotten long ago, leaving the chamber and its mute guardians sealed off in darkness for centuries. It was the other end of the chamber that interested him though.

With a nod to the workers who had entered with him, the group began to move the length of the room, one or two of them glancing suspiciously at the statues and their flat emotionless marble eyes as if they expected the statues to grind into motion at any minute. Soriacles and his men followed close behind, their mouths agape at the sight before them as they tried to take everything in. The silence in the chamber was almost palpable. It hung heavy over everything, and the thick layer of dust covering the floor deadened their footsteps to little more than a dry rustle. The only other sound to be heard came from the rasping crackle of the torches and the creaking leather armour of Soriacles' guards.

Slowly and cautiously they passed between the lines of statues, the touching spears above their heads looming starkly in the half-light. Pelion could sense the unease of his Brothers. The thick sulfuric odour burned stronger and stronger the further they advanced, and the silent brooding statues seemed to hem them in on all sides.

Eventually they came to a small series of steps that led up to a raised platform of the same marble that the pillars and statues were made of. On the platform sat a huge round sarcophagus. It was all fashioned from stone, and had been cut in the shape of a large round shield similar to the ones the statues carried. The lid of the sarcophagus itself had been worked as if it were a shield, and, laid out on top of it in a serene death pose, was a carefully carved representation of a bearded man. His cheeks were flat and lined by the rigours of time, and his nose was a fierce aquiline shape that lent him a hard, hawk-like aspect.

Soriacles stepped past him to stand at the ancient sarcophagus, his hands running over the surface of the stone with the same reverence he had displayed when holding the seal earlier. He now clutched that same seal in his right hand and he lifted it slowly to compare it to a raised section of the stone, his fingers pushing and probing against it.

"I need light," he said simply, waving one of his guards to his side as he leaned in close to study the markings more intently.

Pelion ignored him. The tomb was of no interest to him, nor to the rest of the Brothers. Its presence was incidental at best. The real reason he had come here lay just beyond. Without a word he stepped around the tomb and moved to the edge of the raised marble platform. Instead of coming up against a wall or retreating back into the chamber floor, the platform dropped away sharply into a strange underground lake. The lake's contents were not water however. Instead it was filled with a noxious yellow looking fluid. It seemed to give off a sickly yellow glow; the one Pelion had noted earlier, and from the increasing strength of the odour, Pelion could guess quite reliably that they had found the source of the strange smell that had been tormenting him. The strange yellow substance unnerved Pelion in a similar manner to how Mortius did. It was unnaturally still, it's surface still and unmoving, as smooth and shining as polished glass. The slight gusts of air wafting in from the fresh opening they had made upon their entrance did not so much as stir a ripple across it, and the pungent smell was it its worst here.

He looked up from the eerie stillness to a thin shaft of sunlight that was pouring in through a small gap in the stone high above their heads. It was as if it were a finger of the pretender gods, stabbing down from high on Olympus and into the lake below. It never touched the sickly yellow surface of the lake however. Instead it lit upon a small outcrop of stone, little more than a mound really, that rose out of the water like the misshapen hump back of a whale in the ocean. Rough steps had been carved into the isle that ran up to a small alter upon which something had been laid out. It was too small and too far away for Pelion's eyes to make out.

At the base of the stairs on the distant isle, a thin spike had been driven into the ground, an ancient but still secure looking rope tied off on it. It stretched taught back across the surface of the lake toward them, and Pelion let his gaze follow it until he caught sight of another spike fixed firmly to the marble platform. Unlike the spike on the island, something else was secured to this spike; a small ferry made from lacquered wood with a carved effigy of a sea siren worked in gold leaf at its prow.

"This is tremendous!"

Pelion frowned, distracted from his observations by Soriacles' sudden and unexpected announcement.

"I'm sorry?" he said turning to face the other man.

Soriacles was brandishing the stone seal and gesturing animatedly at the decorative stonework that wound its way across the carved stone sarcophagus.

"The symbols!" he said excitedly. "They're identical! This is Lycurgus' tomb!"

"Did you ever doubt it?" Pelion said, completely unimpressed.

"I just didn't think... I... I never imagined it would be..." Soriacles trailed off as he stared in awe at the sarcophagus.

"The first king of Sparta," he whispered softly to himself, then turned to the guards who had accompanied him. "A descendant of Ares and the gods themselves!"

Pelion's frown darkened and his eyes narrowed. This obsession with Lycurgus' tomb was becoming bothersome.

"We should head to the city," Soriacles announced loudly. "The Ephors and the Kings will reward us all handsomely for this! I must tell them at once!"

Pelion gave a polite cough, interrupting the other man as he reached the height of his excitement.

"I'm afraid I cannot permit you to do that," he said softly.

Soriacles rounded on him, a look of surprise writ large across his face.

"And why is that?" he said, anger lending his voice a sharp edge.

Pelion folded his arms into the voluminous sleeves of his robes and gave a soft, placating smile.

"Because my Brothers and I have need of this place," he said, "and our need is greater than yours."

Soriacles' eyes narrowed dangerously, and he gestured to his three guards. Each man drew their swords, the familiar rasping of metal on leather sheaths sounding doubly loud in the too-calm stillness of the chamber.

"Is that so?" Soriacles said threateningly. "And you and your little band of_ unarmed_ zealots here plan to stop me how?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Pelion caught a strange flicker behind Soricales and his men. The shadows there were twisting and skittering, dancing awkwardly against the torchlight in a most unnatural way. His smile widened and he stepped forward toward the nearest of the guards, his arms spread wide and his head bowed in supplication.

"You are right of course," he said. "We have no weapons and are but simple Followers of our Lord's words."

As he drew up before the other man, he dropped to his knees, the dust coating his robes thickly as he did so. He never looked up, keeping his eyes downcast the whole time.

"Our lord has decreed to us that this place will mark a turning point in our great work. From here the road to his Return lies wide and untrodden before us. We cannot allow you to stop us from treading upon that path."

He lifted his head and stared hard at the guard above him, sword raised and poised to strike at Soriacles' command.

"My faith is of the most sincere conviction," he said. "I am prepared to die for what I believe, but the true question is, are you?" The man looked confused and glanced to Soriacles over his shoulder.

"You want me to waste this loon?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Soriacles opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak the shadows around the men came alive. Pelion could barely see what happened, Mortius moved so fast. The sickle ended staff he carried whirled out of the darkness, its blade a slim flashing line of purest silver as it struck the guard's hands from his wrists. The man fell back with a howl of agony and terror, his sword clattering loudly to the floor as Mortius emerged fully from the shadows in a vicious spin that brought the staff around again. This time the strike separated the guard's head from his shoulders, and the corpse collapsed unmoving to the floor.

"Apparently not," Pelion said, giving the other guards a triumphant smile.

They had closed up around Soriacles, but already he could see the doubt behind their eyes as Mortius advanced on them and their swords trembled uncertainly in their grips. Their Lord's Soul moved like a coiled serpent, his every motion hypnotic and deliberate. The shadows twirled and cavorted madly at his feet and stretched out in all directions from him like grasping fingers splayed darkly across the stone.

One of the guards could take no more. With a strangled cry of despair he turned to flee. Mortius struck with the same speed and surety of a viper, the staff practically humming as it lashed out, the blade catching the man in a vertical line down his back. He dropped instantly as Mortius twisted at the waist, his black robes flying and his staff whipping around and through the final guard's defence as if it were not even there. The thin silver blade buried itself up to the half way point just below the man's ribs and he coughed in surprise, blood flecking his lips as Mortius yanked it free.

Soriacles, showing more spine than any of his guards, gave a powerful bellow of anger and hurled himself at the shadowy terror that had just dispatched his three sell swords. Mortius did not even seem to move. One moment he was standing with his back to Soriacles, the next he was facing the opposite way, thin palid fingers wrapped in a vice like grip around the other man's throat. With seemingly no effort, he lifted Soriacles above off the dusty floor, the other man's feet kicking futilely at him as he did so.

"Who... are you... people!" Soriacles managed to choke out as Mortius' fingers tightened.

"A complicated question," Pelion replied as he stepped up next to Mortius to look Soriacles in the eye.

"We are a myriad different faces," he began theatrically. "Sons and daughters, uncles and aunts, fathers and mothers, but one and all we are Brothers and Sisters; Brothers and Sisters who were each of us wronged by a cruel world lorded over by uncaring and indifferent gods."

Mortius remained silent. He turned and began to carry the struggling man with careful deliberateness across the chamber, the crawling shadows bunching tightly at his feet as he went. Pelion turned to follow him, continuing his speech as he did so.

"We all of us have suffered," he said gesturing to the other Followers now gathering around them as they approached the edge of the lake, "but we all of us also found peace in the embrace of our Lord's will. Now we follow his wishes, so that he might one day step out into the world and wreak his terrible revenge on those who wronged him so long ago. It is in his vengeance on the world that so too will ours be exacted."

Soriacles pounded helplessly against Mortius' iron grip, his eyes rolling in terror as the tall hooded figure thrust him out over the edge of the marble to dangle helplessly above the vile yellow lake below.

"We will not be dissuaded from our task," Pelion continued matter-of-factly. "We have, each of us, faced our deepest fears and uncertainties. Our faith was tested in a crucible of self knowledge and self doubt, and none of us have been found wanting."

He lifted a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully.

"Tell me something Soriacles," he said. "Have you ever been tested in such a manner? It is a most enlightening experience, I can assure you."

He lifted a finger to tap ponderously against his lips.

"What would such a test do to you I wonder? Would it help you understand us, maybe even join us? Would you emerge from it a changed man, greater and stronger for the enlightenment it provided?"

Without a word, Mortius released his grip and Soriacles dropped like a stone into the sickly yellow waters beneath them. They reacted the same way as normal water would as he crashed down into them, thick ropey droplets splashing out in all directions as he vanished beneath the surface. Pelion watched the surface of the water with interest. It calmed quicker than he would have expected, until it was almost completely still again, only occasional ripples spreading out into the darkness.

"I guess not," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice as he began to turn away.

Suddenly the calm, still surface erupted and Soriacles emerged with his mouth gaping wide as he gasped for breath. Pelion whirled back to face him, his eyes alight with surprise and fascination. Blood streamed from Soriacles' nose in dark crimson rivulets and his eyes rolled in unfocused terror. He thrashed at the surface of the lake, striking out desperately for the edge of the marble platform, leaving a churning series of frothing yellow waves in his wake.

"Get him out of there!" Pelion barked at the Followers clustered around him.

A number of the Brothers nodded and immediately dropped to their knees, hauling Soriacles' thrashing form from the water and up onto the platform where they deposited him unceremoniously on his back. His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his chest heaving and his pupils dilated so wide that nearly the entire of his iris was distended. His fingers curled and clawed futilely at invisible phantoms in the air, and he let out a pathetic whimper.

Pelion leaned in close, examining the process intently.

"What do you see?" he whispered to the other man. Soriacles' response was not what he had expected.

"I'm not a slave!" the other man shouted aloud to the air. It didn't seem directed at any of them in particular. Instead his eyes seemed to have fixed on some far away place and time.

"You can't take me back!" he continued, his voice on the edge of breaking "I won't let you! Do you hear me!? I WILL NEVER LET YOU TAKE ME BACK!"

His arms began to flail desperately in the air as if he were fighting off invisible attackers and then, with a final scream so loud it made Pelion wince, his breath rattled in his throat and his eyes rolled back in his head, his heaving chest falling still and silent.

"Perfect," Pelion heard Mortius say behind him,

"Indeed great Soul," he said. "But perhaps too perfect? What good is finding this place if people cannot survive the process?"

Pelion felt the same pallid hand that had choked Soriacles fall upon his shoulder. It was supposed to be a comradely gesture, one of brotherhood and friendship, but there was something too calculated about how it was done. The timing of it was too mannered, the grip a shade too firm and the words that followed had no warmth to them.

"In smaller doses I have no doubt the effects will be more in line with our needs," he said, his voice dry and matter of fact.

Pelion gritted his teeth in frustration. How could he know that? To ensure smaller doses would mean testing it, and to test it would doubtless mean using their Brothers to do so. Still, he supposed, those who could not survive were doubtless weak in the eyes of their Lord.

"I would have preferred he live," Pelion waved in the direction of Soriacles. "He would've been of more value alive."

"Perhaps, although I think dead he may ultimately be of more use to us..." Mortius cocked his head in that manner he had where it seemed their Lord was speaking to him from across the narrow but infinite divide between the lands of the living and the dead.

"...In fact," he continued. "I'm certain of it."

He pulled Pelion to his feet and twisted his head to address the other Followers standing around them. He gestured to Soriacles' body with his staff.

"Take it outside. It will be of use later." He turned back to face Pelion. "Now come, faithful Pelion. Our work here is not done just yet, and we have something to discuss before it is."

He began to move off across the marble platform, Pelion walking close behind him as they left the other Followers to haul the body out of the chamber.

"What is it that you would discuss with me?" Pelion asked as they walked across the platform, hoping it would be short and simple. In truth, Mortius did not just unnerve him. He truly frightened him. He had not expected their Lord's Soul to be quite so stark and terrifying and he certainly had not expected him to be quite so fearsome with that staff.

"As you know, our Lord turns restlessly in his prison." Mortius said as they walked. "The day of his Return draws near, but it has been a long time in coming and many of the Followers have become scattered and divided, their purpose lost or forgotten. That is why we have come here. It is time to draw the Followers closer together; time to bind them tightly to one will, and one will alone; the will of our Lord."

"This," he gestured the glowing yellow lake beneath them, "will help us do just that."

"I understand I think, great Soul," Pelion nodded, not entirely sure that he actually did.

Together they reached the edge of the platform above the small wooden ferry Pelion had noticed earlier. Mortius stepped nimbly down into it; his foot falls so light and assured that the boat barely rocked as he did so. Pelion followed behind him, decidedly less gracefully, causing the boat to rock and turn. Mortius reached out a hand to the long rope that stretched between the platform and the distant island of stone out in the middle of the lake. Without any seeming effort on his part, he pulled hard on the rope and the boat glided forward over the sickly yellow water. Pelion eyed the surface of the lake suspiciously. After what had happened to Soriacles he did not want to fall in himself for fear of what he might be made to see.

"The Followers must be united if we are to succeed," Mortius continued as he pulled them across the water. "The barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead must be laid low if we are to bring him back into this world."

"We will not be found wanting," Pelion said stiffly, not entirely sure what the other man was driving at. "We will prove our value to our Lord."

Mortius turned suddenly to regard Pelion, and even though he could not see the other man's eyes beneath the shadows of his hood, he knew he was being scrutinized intently. The taller man cocked his head slightly and the shadows that clung to him seemed to reach out to gently caress the hem of Pelion's own scarlet robes. At the very edge of hearing he thought he could make something out, a faint whisper, no louder than a leaf rustling in the breeze. Was it even really there, or just a figment of his imagination? He could not truly decide.

"Most faithful Pelion," Mortius began, "You have no need to prove your faith, nor your steadfastness. For decades you have served faithfully and shown loyalty to our Lord's cause above and beyond that of any other."

He turned away, his attention fixed on the island before them.

"In ages past, when our Lord still walked in the world of the living, the Followers held a triumvirate of power as foremost amongst them. Each point of this triumvirate, the Soul, the Strength and the Faith, stood as a cornerstone of our Lord's being."

The boat bumped softly against the natural rock that made up the island, rocking slightly in the water as it did so. Mortius stepped out of the boat with the same easy grace he had entered it with, while Pelion had to lift his robes to his knees to follow suit, clambering overboard and onto the island in a much more ungainly fashion.

"In the past we spoke in his place," Mortius continued as they walked up the steps toward the small altar Pelion had seen earlier. "We were voices for each distinct face of his multifaceted brilliance. I, as the Soul, am the apex of the triumvirate, but two more positions now stand unoccupied."

He regarded Pelion steadily.

"It is time they were filled," he said.

"By me?" Pelion asked, trying to keep a note of presumptuousness out of his

Mortius cocked his head again, his staff resting easily in the crook of his elbow.

"Yes."

Pelion felt his heart swell with pride inside him. He was being chosen! After all his years of faithful service, his Lord had finally chosen to grant him his favour!

Attempting to still appear humble, he fell to his knees, prostrating himself at Mortius' feet.

"Please great Soul!" he begged, trying to inject humility into his voice. "I am not worthy of such an honour."

It was an utter lie and both knew it. Mortius only watched him coolly.

"You can think of any better?" he said dryly.

Pelion paused in his groveling and lifted his gaze to stare up into the dark recesses of Mortius' hood. A thin lipped smile spread across his face. He should have known Mortius would not fall for such an obvious and affected display of piety.

"Come to think of it, not really, no," he said.

Mortius nodded,

"Good," he said. "Our Lord has already chosen, and he does not like to be second guessed, especially by his own subjects. Now come, stand beside me faithful Pelion, be my Brother in a way no other among the Followers is."

With that he reached out, proffering Pelion his hand. The old Priest regarded it for a moment, then took it firmly in his own. Mortius' grip was like bands of chill iron coiled tightly around Pelion's forearm. With a sharp tug, he pulled Pelion to his feet, the old man's knees cracking loudly as he went.

"Now we are as one," Mortius continued, his voice cold, the words coming out in a measured cadence, as if he were reciting some ancient stanza. "Together we are our Lord's Soul, and his Faith, our fates entwined as one under his watchful eye."

Suddenly he released his grip on Pelion's arm, and turned away again, striding off up the steps to stand before the altar as if nothing had ever happened.

The thin shaft of sunlight from above shone brightly off an object laid out on the altar. Mortius stood over it, his back straight as he regarded it with a chill stare.

"You said a triumvirate," Pelion said, as he drew up alongside him, "three cornerstones; Soul, Strength and Faith?"

"I did," Mortius nodded.

"Well, if I am to be the Faith, and you are already the Soul, who is to be the Strength?"

Mortius said nothing at first. Instead he leaned down over the altar, reaching out to lift the object from it, raising it up to his eye-line so that it glinted in the thin ray of sunlight.

Pelion frowned at the object, confused. It was an amulet, and quite a plain one at that. It was worked in gold and its only distinguishing feature was a carefully carved shard of blackest obsidian set at its center that seemed to soak up any light that touched it.

"That…" Mortius said finally as he twisted the amulet in his grip until the sunlight flashed brightly off its golden surface "…is yet to be decided."


	3. Chapter Two: Wayfarers

**Chapter Two: Wayfarers**

The stone was cold beneath her when she awoke; a slab of smooth but chill dry granite that sent shivers down her spine. Opening her eyes to a dim half-light of skittering torch light and thick shadows, she glanced around the room warily. The dull grey stone that surrounded her gave her a growing sense of unease. She had been here before but, try as she might, she could not remember when or why.

Slowly, she eased herself up off the stone, shaking her head against the dull fog that seemed to have settled over her mind. All she could see was a simple wooden door flanked on both sides by bracketed torches. Her ears pricked as somewhere at the edge of hearing, a soft mocking laugh sounded. It was a sound that, like the chamber, she was already familiar with, and the more she listened to it, the more she felt her stomach turn in discomfort.

With a frown, she clambered down from the slab, twisting her head in search of the source of the laughter while she reached over her shoulder instinctively. The frown deepened as her hand met nothing but air. The sword that always hung at her back was missing. Where could it have gone? How had she even gotten here? It was all so muddled but, at the same time, achingly familiar. Something was supposed to happen now; she was sure of that. Something that would change her life forever. With no other options immediately presenting themselves, she stood stock still and waited.

Nothing happened.

Her eyes narrowed as she listened intently. Even the laughter had stopped. All that was left in its place was silence. With a grunt of frustration, she started for the door. She may not be able to remember how she had come to be here, or where she even was for that matter, but she had a distinct recollection of what lay beyond the room. A corridor of the same dull stone would greet her, one lit by more torches that would flare into life as she approached and extinguish themselves once she had passed.

Confident of what awaited her, she yanked the door open with a fierce tug. It was not the corridor she had expected. It was something far more haunting. A large, long neglected chamber stretched out in front of her. Piles of debris lay scattered across an uneven stone floor, and a thick layer of dust coated everything around her. As she glanced around, she noted signs of recent activity. Footprints ran to and fro through the drifted dust. They were smaller than her own, but not so small as to belong to an infant. The footprints of an older child then? She could not be certain. Again, that same sense of familiarity teased at the corners of her consciousness. She should know this place, and the owner of those small footprints. It should all be as clear as day, but instead everything felt muddled and uncertain.

For a moment, a half formed memory floated to the surface of her murky thoughts. It was of a young girl, certainly no more than eleven or twelve years of age, with a head crowned by a thick mess of strawberry blonde hair and eyes as blue as summer sky, but with all the warmth of a block of ice. The memory was unpleasant, the girl's eyes chilling in their emotionlessness, but still she clung to it, desperate for something, anything even, to hold onto. Try as she might though, it was already fading like wisps of mist cleared by a steady breeze and, before she knew it, the image had disappeared, leaving her confused and alone again.

A slight breeze tickled at the nape of her neck from behind and she turned, her eyes widening as she realised she was not quite so alone after all. The door through which she had entered this strange place had disappeared. In its place sat a young woman, her slim face and high cheeks framed by a tangle of wild blonde hair. She was clad all in black leather battle gear with hands outstretched to warm themselves over a small fire lit from and feeding on one of the debris piles. Her expression was flat and unreadable, her pose motionless. It was as if she were empty, a hollow husk waiting for something to lend her life again.

She stepped closer to the other woman, feeling that same itch of familiarity at the back of her mind, but stronger this time. This woman was her, or at least, her as she had used to be. The stillness was an illusion, a too-thin mask that was prone to cracking. Inside the woman was boiling, her guts churning with anger, bile and outright hatred. She knew how this duplicate felt, because she felt the same way.

Suddenly, an ear splitting cry of purest anguish echoed through the air. It came from far away, though the agony in it was such that it seemed to be coming from much closer. Her doppleganger's head shot up at the sound of it, the eyes alight with wonder and delight. She surged to her feet and tilted her head back, a beatific smile of horrific satisfaction spreading across her face

Suddenly the world seemed to tilt unexpectedly, her stomach lurching horribly as, somehow, inexplicably, she _became_ her duplicate. She was standing with her head thrown back and her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she basked in the distant suffering. The memories of this moment came flooding back to her all at once, casting away the murkiness and confusion that had been addling her. Now instead of fog and uncertainty, there was only stark clarity and it was powerful and overwhelming. She could remember Xena and her delightfully dead munchkin child, remember the pure stillness that had settled over her in this moment, remember how she had wanted it to last forever. Worst of all though, she could remember how it had all vanished in an instant. Despairing, she tried to will the sense of peace to stay, praying to any and all that would listen to grant her this one simple mercy.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Just as it had before, the pain and anger came crashing back down over her like a roaring maelstrom, sweeping away the stillness and leaving her broken and empty with nothing but the hate and bitterness that in turn, tore into her heart with a fresh and delicious relish. As the screams died, the laughter returned, dry and mocking, all with no real humour behind them.

She opened her eyes and was startled to see that the spot where she had been standing before the crazy lurching switch, was still occupied. Another duplicate of her - or was it just the her from before - stood, shoulders hunched in mirth and hands lifted to her mouth to stifle a hysteric fit of giggling.

She stood straighter, her shoulder's squaring as she faced down the doppleganger.

"We've done this before," she said darkly. "Who are you!? _What _are you!?"

The other cocked her head.

"I would have thought that that was plainly obvious by now," she replied with a wicked sneer.

As if in accompaniment, the various piles of debris scattered around the chamber erupted in violent conflagrations, the flames racing hungrily out and over anything and everything in sight until all save a small ring of open floor around them both had been consumed in a roaring inferno.

"I'm the only part of you that matters!" the duplicate snapped as the flames burned hot and hungry all about them, reaching back to draw the sword that had been missing earlier. "I'm the part of you that nurtures and provides for you! The part of you that's kept you alive all these long years!"

"The part of me that does nothing but hate and rage?" she spat back. "The part of me that's like having a never ending poison burning in my gut!"

The doppleganger lip curled upward in a sneer. Then, without warning, she lunged forward, the sword practically singing in her hands as it sliced through the air toward her and she instinctively danced back out of reach, just barely avoiding the duplicate's follow up thrust. As she back peddled desperately, her feet skidded out from under her, and she tumbled back, landing hard on her back across the surprisingly cool stone floor. The flames roared higher, each one a dazzling blaze of white hot fierceness that threatened to come crashing down over them both and burn them to nothing more than blackened ash.

"Oh this is just pathetic!" the duplicate laughed, stepping nimbly astride her and flipping the blade so that it hung above her breast like a terrible sword of Damocles.

"Why would you even think you could resist me now!?" The mirror image's knuckles whitened around the sword's hilt as she prepared to deliver the killer blow.

"After all," she continued, her smile cold and taunting, "you never could before!"

* * *

Callisto awoke on her back, her long hair matted in a wild tangle, and her bedroll soaked through with sweat. She was staring up into a star scattered night sky, each tiny silver pin prick shining brightly against the black. Among it all, a thin sliver of the moon was just barely visible. Her chest was heaving heavily and her breath came in ragged, incomplete gasps as she reached up, her hand pressing tentatively against the ribs above her heart to feel for any sword wounds.

Nothing.

She rolled onto her side with a low groan, staring silently into the quietly crackling camp fire she had started earlier as her breathing returned to normal. Slowly she pushed herself upright until she was sitting cross legged on her sweat soaked bedroll. Her eyes never left the flames, and for a moment she could still see her own face staring back at her from their depths, that same taunting malicious smile writ large across it. Despite the balmy night air and the warmth of the fire, she felt a chill run up her spine.

She grunted slightly, clearing her throat as she gazed into the fire. It felt dry and scratchy. Without really thinking, she leaned over and grabbed a water skin from her camp gear, tilting back her head and swallowing the clear, cool water hungrily. She felt a thin line of it running down her chin, and immediately pulled the water skin back, corking the top of it and wiping her chin as she did so.

A tired sigh escaped from her lips as she returned her attention to the flickering firelight.

The dream had been so vivid that even thinking about it brought back the same cold sweat she had awakened with. It wasn't the first time she had dreamed it, or even others like it. The dreams dogged her nights, and her sleep was almost always fitful and disturbed. Try as she might though, she could never recall them for long after waking. Instead she could only remember brief glimpses or sensations, usually of fire, or the kind of scorching heat that made her want to lie on her back in a stream to ease it all away. Then there was her face. Always the same. Always smiling that same wicked smile and that same sadistic glare, backed by that ever present maniacal laughter that would stay with her long after every other memory from the dream had faded. Already, she was finding the dream she had just had increasingly difficult to recall. Every detail of it was becoming fuzzier and less clear with each passing moment. Every detail that was, with the exception of that laugh.

With a great effort, she wrenched her gaze from the fire and the unpleasant feelings it conjured. Instead she turned her attention back to the night sky and was surprised to see that it was already lightening from black to a faded blue along the tops of the forest. Dawn was approaching, and the birds in the trees were beginning to stir.

With a final resigned groan, she pushed herself up to standing, kicking thick clods of dirt over her dying camp fire and then bending to collect her camp gear. It was time to get moving. She doubted she would be able to sleep again, and besides, she had been on the road for weeks now, with precious few opportunities to gather fresh supplies. She had been hoping to reach some sign of civilisation soon and an earlier start increased the chances of her doing so today enormously.

She began with her bedroll, before moving onto the cooking gear she had cleaned the night before and left to dry while she had slept. Before long the whole campsite was squared away, and the only sign of her presence was the smouldering ring of ash and ember that had been her campfire.

She crossed to her horse, a dark mare she had taken as her own after defeating Caelon and his bandits at Penthos. It did not take long for her to stow her gear in the straps behind the saddle, and before too much time had passed she was mounted and walking the horse between the trees.

She rode in a half-daze for the most part, brought on by a lack of sleep and the incessant, seemingly endless days of riding with little to no company. She had passed through one or two small villages on her journey so far, but each time, concern about her identity as Callisto, the crazed warrior woman from the North who had butchered a score of villages and cut a bloody swathe across the Greek country side, had led her to move on quickly. Other than on those occasions and the few instances of meeting other travelers on the road, she had spent the majority of the last few weeks alone.

Slowly the trees around her began to thin until the trail she was following emerged from the forest and out onto a scene of pastoral beauty. She drew her horse up for a moment, regarding the scenery stretching out before her. She was at the crest of a high hill, her horse overlooking a series of undulating valleys that stretched out before her like great waves of purest green grass. Occasionally the gently rolling silhouette of the hills would be broken up by the outline of a lone tree or rocky outcrop, and the otherwise endless see of green would be interrupted by bright patches of flowers. Away in the distance, a row of crisp, snow capped mountains sprouted from the horizon. Despite its serene quality, the landscape did little to move her. Hers was not an eye that held a great appreciation for natural beauty.

With a click of her tongue and a twitch of the reins, she eased her horse forward again, upping the pace to a brisk trot as she followed the trail down the hillside and into the bottom of the valleys she had been eyeing from above.

At first she had liked the solitude of her daily riding. It had given her time to think. The events of her life since Xena had stabbed her with the Hind's Blood dagger, and certainly since Penthos, had given her a great deal to think about too. When she had set out from Penthos, she had not had a particular plan or destination in mind. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realised that since Zeus and Hades had conspired to return her to the land of the living she had been acting on precious little more than a gut feeling that what she was doing was the best course of action. A deal had been struck in Hades' great dining hall that she remembered very clearly. Be their champion, their strong right arm in the mortal world, and all her crimes would be forgiven when she next came to sit before Hades' judgment. A place in Elysium had been promised to her and she intended to ensure that her two patrons honoured their pledge.

The frustrating part was that, so far, nothing of particular note had happened around her that _required_ a champion. Penthos had been a village in need of her help, and for the first time in her life since her home had been destroyed, she had actually found herself acting based on someone else's needs, rather than her own. Helping them, as trite as it seemed to her at times, had actually managed to cool her raging temper, if only for a little while. The last night in that village, after all the chaos there had come to an end, she had actually slept peacefully for the first time in many years. It had been a minor revelation to her, and she had ridden out the next day with a renewed sense of energy and determination she could not remember feeling in a long time. The determination had lessened as the days had worn on though. The more time she spent alone though, riding into an uncertain future, the more her mind had begun to delve further back into her past. It was then that the dreams had begun again...

Her thoughts trailed off as she did her best not to think about them, and all the memories of darkness and despair that they summoned. They would serve only to drag her thoughts down a path she did not want to take them, and blacken her mood to the point of depression. It was too fine a morning for all of that.

She straightened in the saddle, her back arching as she stretched in the warmth of the early morning sun and her jaw cracked open in a yawn. It must have been a couple of hours since she had started out. The sun was low in the sky but well clear of the hill tops at this point, and she could smell the fresh scent of morning dew on the grass around her. Maybe it was time for a brief rest. She did not want to work her horse too hard after all.

She was about to clamber down from the saddle when the breeze changed directions, tugging her wild hair across her face in thin streamers. She gave an annoyed sigh and blew at it to clear her sight when her ears pricked at the distant sound of battle. The distinct ringing of sword against sword and fierce but muted shouts and grunts hung on the wind.

Somewhere, close by but hidden from view, someone was fighting.

Her blood pulsed hard in her veins and her heart pounded faster as adrenaline surged inside her. Her grip tightened on the horses' reins and she felt her muscles tense in anticipation. After weeks on the road with almost nothing to do save ride, eat and sleep, she was hungry for some action. A good fight would be a welcome distraction from her increasingly dark thoughts at the very least.

With a swift dig from her heels, she pushed her horse to a gallop, its long legs stretching out over the narrow trail as they darted forward. Up ahead, the trail curved right and out of sight around the base of a low hill, and as her horse all but flew around the bend she caught her first sight of the fight she was riding to join. It brought back memories of Penthos almost immediately. A group of four bandits clad in ragged leathers, each wearing a helm with a closed face-plate, had ambushed two travelers on the trail.

Callisto squinted. The victims were an odd couple to say the least.

The two men were standing with their backs to her as she drew closer. The first and nearest to her was apparently in his middle years; a short, dumpy individual bordering on overweight. He had a bald pate, but had grown the hair on the back and sides of his skull long, then tied it back into a short ponytail as if to compensate. A heavy looking travel pack was slung across his shoulders and a belt covered in all manner of strange looking tools hung at his waist. He carried a stout walking staff, but clearly had never learned how to fight with it, judging by how he was now cowering behind his companion.

The second man was standing straight, legs firmly parted for better balance, his upper body tense and controlled in a classic dueling pose, but turned slightly to better shield the shorter man behind him. He was of average height, but with a lean and rangy build, all long arms long and loping legs, and his hair was a light brown, and hung in a shaggy crop down to his shoulders. In his right hand he clutched a sturdy looking one handed sword with a narrow blade sharpened down one side judging by the way it reflected the bright morning sun. In the off hand, he wielded a strange dagger looking weapon. It was perhaps an inch or so longer than a regular dagger, edging close almost to a short sword in length, but unlike a short sword, a series of notches ran the length of the blade.

The sound of hoof beats on the trail seemed to have distracted him, and as he turned his head to look for the source of the noise, one of the bandits took the opportunity to lunge for him. Callisto pulled her sword free as she drew nearer, ready to cut the attacking bandit down to size as her horse prepared to thunder right through the middle of the group.

She needn't have bothered.

The man with the two weapons swung back to face his attacker rapidly, the notched dagger coming up swiftly in a deft parry. As their weapons met, the attacking bandit's sword was caught in one of the dagger's notches and stuck fast with the sharp, grinding squeal of metal on metal. The traveler twisted sharply with the dagger, dragging his attacker off balance as he tried to keep a grip on his sword. As the bandit stumbled forward, the other man brought his full length sword up and rammed it hard into the bandit's stomach.

Callisto was impressed by the man's skill, but could feel a sinking feeling in her stomach as the three remaining bandits fanned out around him, preparing to assault him all at once. Good as he was, she doubted he would be able to fend off all of them at the same time.

Fortunately for him though, she was already upon them.

"Hey!" she yelled, whirling her sword up into a ready position, "Heads up!"

Upon hearing her warning, the man with the notched dagger instinctively ducked, and Callisto lashed out as her horse passed within inches of him, her sword flashing through the air where his head had been a moment earlier.

The bandit who had been standing directly in front of him was not so quick to react. Her blade caught him hard across the chest, the impact jarring her arm in its socket while the power of the blow combined with the momentum of her charging horse serving to lift the bandit clear off his feet with a gasp of pained surprise. He seemed to hang in the air for a moment before flipping head over heels to land face down in the dirt, his body motionless and chest unmoving.

Tugging hard on the reins, Callisto wheeled her horse around to face the remaining two bandits. She straightened, standing tall in the stirrups. Then, with a piercing battle cry, she jumped from the saddle in a perfectly executed forward flip, landing with the poised grace of a professional dancer.

She flashed a wicked grin at the two remaining bandits, her sword a slick red with the blood of the man she had just killed.

"So tell me," she began. "Is this little party of yours invite only, or can anyone join in?"

The two bandits glanced at each other, then as one, they charged, voices raised in inarticulate cries of rage. Callisto's grin widened, and she moved to meet them. Her sword parried the first bandit's opening thrust easily, but she could already see a second strike angling in from her right with the intent of slicing her open just below the ribs. She did not even try to bring her sword around to catch the second blade. Instead, she dropped to all fours, head tucked low to avoid the sword swing. It whistled harmlessly past, mere inches from her scalp. Without thinking, she lashed out with her leg in a powerful kick that connected hard with the side of one her attackers' knees. There was a sickening wet crack as the man's joint gave out under the vicious assault, and he collapsed screaming to the dirt. She wasted no more time, ducking and rolling to his side, then flipping her sword in her grip to finish him off with a clean thrust to the stomach.

As she straightened, the last remaining bandit was already backing away, his sword shaking in his grip as he eyed her worriedly. For a brief instant Callisto thought she caught a flash of recognition behind the bandit's closed helm, then with a final strangled cry, he turned and fled.

He did not make it more than a couple of steps when a dagger hilt blossomed between his shoulders, a thick red stain of blood spreading quickly over the ragged leather surrounding it. The bandit's back went rigid, and he managed to stumble forward a couple of steps, his hand pawing desperately at the dagger in his spine, before finally toppling forward into the dirt with a resounding crash.

Callisto turned to see the man she had just helped standing with his arm outstretched, the hand that had been holding his notched dagger now empty.

"Nice throw," she nodded to him.

The man gave a halfhearted shrug.

"I was going for his leg," he said nonchalantly, straightening and slipping his sword back into its scabbard at his hip.

Callisto squatted low, wiping her own blade clean on the grass at the side of the trail.

"Well, it's a good job you didn't hit me," she said. "Taking a knife in the back tends to make me cranky in the morning."

The man raised an eyebrow at her and was opening his mouth to say something when the shorter man stepped out from behind him.

"Athelis!" he snapped, smacking the taller man smartly on the arm with his staff as he did so. "Where are your manners! Did you leave them in the barn you were doubtless born in? This fine woman has just ridden in with the morning sun, a veritable lady-like Apollo come to our rescue, and you cannot muster so much as a simple thank you!?"

Callisto fought to suppress a smirk as the taller of the pair – Athelis apparently – flinched then rolled his eyes in long suffering frustration.

"Please allow me to apologise on behalf of my employee here," the shorter man said, stepping around to position himself ahead of Athelis so that he could address her directly.

"He has all the social graces of an ox, and an ill tempered ox at that. Nevertheless, he is quick with a sword, as you've already seen, and has proven most invaluable to me on my journey here."

As he spoke, Callisto tried to place his accent. His voice carried the rich, fluid intonation of an Athenian, and his flowery language suggested someone of overt intelligence, possibly even born to wealth and prosperity. Could he be a noble then? But if her were a noble, why would he be traveling in these desolate parts and in such dirty and downtrodden attire to boot?

While she pondered, the shorter man reached into a pocket stitched into his traveling robes and produced a small glass lens affixed to a short chain that in turn ran back into the robe pocket. Callisto watched curiously as he lifted the lens up until it was covered one eye. The eye loomed large behind the curved glass and he blinked a couple of times as if his eyesight were readjusting. After a moment or so he smiled at her.

"Why my dear!" he said in mild surprise "You look positively radiant! Truly I did you no disservice when I likened you to our shining sun god."

"You could've done me a better service than likening me to a man," Callisto said archly as she straightened, pulling wisps of blonde hair out of her face and sheathing her sword in the scabbard at her back.

Athelis let out an amused snort at that, while the shorter man gave an embarrassed cough.

"Yes... well... I... uh..." He stammered briefly, before regaining some semblance of self possession and sweeping low in a practiced bow, the tools at his belt clattering as he did so. "...Our sincerest thanks for your coming to our aid. Had you not been so swift in your action, myself and my companion here would doubtless be crossing the Styx by now."

He righted himself, an ingratiating smile spreading across his portly face.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monocles, and this uncultured brute is my assistant, Athelis."

He straightened from his bow, and looked at her more closely through that strange lens, a frown beginning to creep across his brow.

"I must say though my dear, you do look most familiar," he said. "I feel like I should know you. Your name would be...?"

"...Not important," she replied, her voice snapping sharply.

Athelis and Monocles both looked somewhat taken aback by her sudden harshness. Callisto cleared her throat uneasily. This being a 'champion of the gods' thing was going to be quite difficult if everywhere she went people recognised her as being Callisto, warrior queen, torturer, murderer and relentless kicker of puppies. She let out a long low breath, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air.

"What I meant to say is, we'll have plenty of time for introductions later," she said, trying to lessen their suspicions a little. "Right now, we should try and get moving. Who knows how many more bandits like these might be lurking around here."

Monocles nodded in agreement, but Athelis continued to regard her from beneath down drawn eyebrows.

"Quite right, quite right," Monocles said, and began to take his pack off his back, unclasping it to hunt through its contents. "If you would just give me a moment though, to make sure that everything is in order you understand. There is much in here that would be irreplaceable were it to be lost."

Callisto squinted at the contents of the pack. It appeared to be mainly filled with old books alongside cracked and browning scrolls. Callisto was even certain she caught sight of a dusty stone tablet tucked in beneath everything else. With so much ancient papyrus in the pack, the thing must have weighed a ton. No wonder Monocles carried a walking staff. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Athelis watching her watching Monocles. She glanced at him and cocked her head slightly, a questioning look on her face. He simply gave her a weary shrug in response. Something told her he was used to this kind of fussy behaviour from the odd little man.

Turning, he crossed to the body of the man with the dagger between his shoulders. Stooping to pull it free, he muttered something under his breath as the blade came away glistening wet. He gave a grunt of frustration as he wiped it clean on the dead man's armour, taking special care around each of the dagger's notches. It was a casual, unceremonious action that Callisto found strangely informative. Athelis was a professional. The way he moved, the casual manner in which he dealt with the scene of violence around him, and the no nonsense way he tended to his weapons, all pointed to a man who clearly knew his trade, and knew it well.

"You're a mercenary then?" she asked as she walked to stand beside him over the body of the dead bandit.

Athelis did not look at her. His attention seemed to be fixed on the dead body in front of him, and he had his knuckles up under his chin, as if lost in thought.

"Something like that," he said distractedly and began to look calculatingly at the hills around them.

"Strange," he said, almost half to himself.

"What is?" Callisto replied, following his gaze.

"There shouldn't be bandits wandering like this in these parts."

"And why is that?"

Athelis looked at her as if she had just said that the Earth moved around the sun.

"We're less than ten leagues from Sparta," he said simply. "The Spartans don't take kindly to banditry in their territory. It would damage their reputation."

"We're close to Sparta?" Callisto said, feeling a sudden surge of interest. In all her days of raiding and pillaging she had never once ventured south onto Spartan territory, and with good reason. Their reputation as the finest warrior society in all of Greece, and possibly even much of the known world, had given pause to many a warlord, herself included. She had not feared the Spartans as such; she had just had more common sense than to attack them. She could not deny the appeal of seeing the city with her own eyes though.

Next to her, Athelis nodded.

"If you don't know where we are, I take it this means you're not the escort King Leonidas said he would send to meet us," he said.

"Me? A Spartan?" she cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say 'what were you _thinking_'. "Guess again. Why would a King of Sparta send out an escort for the two of you anyway?"

She glanced down the trail to where Monocles was still rifling through his pack.

"You don't look like the type that kings take a lot of interest in. I'd say no offence but..."

Athelis flashed her a dry grin.

"Offence very much intended?"

Callisto nodded.

"Kind of hard to avoid giving it."

Athelis chuckled and shook his head.

"Monocles hired me to bring him to Sparta safely. I was headed this way anyway so figured it would be some easy money. He didn't tell me anything about why he wanted to come here until a couple of days ago. Something about a deal with Leonidas. I have zero idea as to what that deal is though." He fixed her with a steady gaze. "I also have zero interest in finding out. I've been paid and that's enough for me."

Callisto frowned. Over the years and many, many victims, she had developed a very good sense for when she was being lied to. She did not think Athelis was lying to her now, but nor was he telling her everything.

She looked down at the body on the floor again, and suddenly a chill ran through her. She could see little of the dead bandit's features thanks to the helmet he wore, but something about the jaw line, slightly recessed and with a cleft chin, seemed familiar to her.

Without thinking, she squatted down and reached out with a curious hand to pull the helmet from the dead bandit's head. As it came away, she felt her heart seize in her chest. The man was young, barely more than a couple of years into adulthood, and still fresh faced. His cheeks were flat and unremarkable, and his head had clearly been shaved at some point recently, but not in the last few days or so as a fine dusting of blonde hair had begun to grow back. The brown unseeing eyes, a little too close together, clinched it for her.

She knew this man.

She racked her brains as she tried to remember where she had seen him before, then suddenly, like a punch to the gut, it hit her.

"Perites!" she breathed softly.

"You know him?" Athelis said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Callisto nodded.

"After a fashion," she said.

She remembered Perites only a little. He had been a resident of Penthos, and had once worked as an assistant to Silas, the village's blacksmith. That had ended however, when he had taken up with a strange old man named Pelion as part of some bizarre religious cult. He, Pelion and another villager named Marsus had spent their time wandering the hills around Penthos, worshiping at a series of shrines and temples to some forgotten god, each carved into ancient stone outcroppings that were scattered across the country side. The last Callisto had seen of any of them had been just before she rode out of Penthos for the final time. How had he come to be here? Why had he left Penthos behind, and what was he now doing among a group of bandits? Had the constant raids from Caelon and his men not been enough for him?

She sniffed as memories of Penthos and that final battle with the bandits there drifted across the surface of her thoughts. Penthos had been saved, but the price had been a number of good people, including Silas and his son in law, Atrix. Like all the people she seemed to care about, they were dead now; reduced to ash on the wind and surviving only as scattered memories that ate away at the corners of her mind.

"Care to share or are you going to try and distract me the same way you did Monocles when he asked for your name?" Athelis said.

Callisto turned to regard the other man levelly.

"You noticed that did you?" she said.

"Kind of hard not to."

She was about to open her mouth to speak again, when the sound of a horse's braying whinny filled the air, followed closely by the sounds of hoof beats on the trail. Callisto straightened quickly, her ears pricking at the sounds. At her guess it was not just one horse, or even two or three headed their way. She estimated it was something closer to a dozen, maybe even more.

Instinctively she went for her sword, yanking it free of its sheath as Athelis did the same. Monocles was already shouldering his pack and hefting his staff, ready to descend into a cowering panic at the earliest provocation no doubt.

Before she had time to do anything else, they were on them. A column of mounted soldiers, all of them broad and powerfully built, dressed in black boiled leather breast plates and wearing dark iron helmets, each one sporting a short and bristling crimson crest. They were all armed in the same fashion too. They carried long spears in one hand while the other clutched the reins of their mount. Across their backs, each had slung a large bronze shield, a small crescent chunk taken out of the surface of it at opposite ends around the circumference through which they could thrust with their spears.

They were coming on at a steady canter, but drew up short when they caught sight of the bodies strewn about the trail. As one, they lowered their spears to point at Callisto and Athelis. Callisto's grip on her sword tightened reflexively as she did a quick headcount, feeling a sense of satisfaction when she counted a total of thirteen men in front of her. Only one out from her estimate. Not bad.

"I take it you're the Spartan escort," she said, adopting a forced air of nonchalance as she glanced around her at the bodies.

"A little late though don't you think?" she grinned mockingly. "It would seem I've done your work for you."

Some of the Spartan's stirred uneasily at her taunting and she could hear the distinct creak of leather as one or two adjusted their weight in the saddles as if they were readying themselves to charge.

"Hold men!" a loud voice sounded from the rear of the column. It rang with confidence and authority, the voice of someone born to lead. "We're here to escort these people, not ride them down as if they were common thieves."

Slowly the column of mounted soldiers parted and a single man came riding forward until he was clear of the rest of them. Unlike the rest of the Spartans, his helmet boasted a far taller crest, and he wore a thick cape of matching crimson affixed to his leather armour with bronze clasps, worked in the fashion of a roaring lion.

He drew his horse up only a few yards from Callisto and Athelis, the polished tip of his spear still pointing skyward. Neither Callisto nor Athelis sheathed their weapons however. Instead Callisto cocked her head at the man curiously.

"Sooooo, I take it you're the man in charge?" She said.

The Spartan nodded, releasing his grip on the reins to remove his helmet. His eyes were a piercing blue, almost hawk-like in their sharpness, and the fierce aquiline nose only served to further this appearance. He kept his hair cropped short, but the helmet had tousled it, making it stick up at the back.

"I am," he said. His face was flat and unreadable, but there was something else behind those sharp blue eyes. Was that surprise she could see there? Horrified realisation? Or maybe, even both?

"My name is Leonidas," he said, his eyes moving to each of the motley band before him in turn. So, the Spartan King himself had come to collect his wayward charges.

"You must be Monocles," he continued, nodding to the short, portly man cowering behind Athelis. Monocles stepped out from behind Athelis and gave another of his sweeping bows.

"I am indeed great King," he said, his manner more reverent than Callisto had heard it before, "And may I say what a humbling and most unexpected honour it was to receive your summons. I will endeavour to serve you in as able a manner as it is within my skill to manage."

Leonidas raised his eyebrows at the man's flowery language, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the Spartans behind him. Some of them were eyeing the rotund little man with amused smiles, but several wore expressions scorn and derision, as if the Monocles' simple presence was somehow insulting to them.

"That is most..." Leonidas paused, as if searching for the words.

"...reassuring." he said finally. "And I imagine the man with you to be your assistant."

"He is great King," Monocles said, still with his head bowed. Leonidas turned to regard Athelis steadily.

"A mercenary by trade yes?" He asked. There was something about the way he said 'mercenary' that made Callisto's stomach turn. If someone had spoken to her in that manner, she would probably have fed them their own kidneys as punishment. She glanced over at Athelis but he seemed nonplussed by it. Instead he straightened, slipping his sword back to his belt as he did so.

"I prefer to think of myself as being a man with purchasable loyalty," he replied and Callisto could tell immediately that he was goading Leonidas. The Spartan King only ignored him, giving a derisive snort as he switched his attention to Callisto instead.

"And so we come to you," he announced, looking her up and down appraisingly as he did so, his eyes coming to rest on the sword she still held out in front of her.

"I must say, your presence is surprising..." he said. Without taking his eyes off her, he clambered down from his saddle and strode up to her, the spear still held upright at his side. He walked in a circle around her, slowly inspecting her from top to bottom, before coming to a stop in front of her.

"...but not unexpected," he whispered to himself with a smile.

"Why is it surprising?" Callisto snapped, feeling confused and as if someone were sizing her up for market day.

"That it's you, and that you're here, just as she said you would be."

Callisto frowned at him.

"It's me?" she said questioningly.

"But of course."

"And I'm here?"

"Right on time too. Incredible!"

"And who's this 'she'?"

"All in good time," Leonidas said, turning on his heel and striding off back to his waiting horse. In a single smooth and practiced motion he was back in the saddle. " In the mean time, I trust that all of you will accompany us back to the city. We have much that needs to be discussed."

Callisto stared at him perplexed. What in Tartarus was going on!?

"I think you might have been wearing your helmet too tight!" she said. "Whoever 'she' is, she must not have been thinking straight either. If you know who I was, you wouldn't even want me this close to your city, let alone inside it."

Leonidas' smile widened.

"But I already know who you are," he said. "Unless I am very much mistaken, and I rarely am, you are the one and only Callisto."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well here we go, the first actual chapter to feature our hero. The opening of this story is proving difficult to write because I need to seed so much information up front that will begin to pay off later. Hopefully soon things will settle down a bit and I'll be able to sink my teeth into the meatier parts of the plot.

In terms of the setting, I chose Sparta mainly because it was never really featured in the show much. I know a little about Spartan history and society having studied ancient history. This story has changed a lot over time, but the idea of setting it in Sparta has always appealed to me. The thing here is, this is a Callisto story, not a history or sociology lecture. As a result I will be treating the Spartans the same way the show treated its historical elements. They will be sketched broadly and historical accuracy can and will be discarded should it serve the story better to do without it. Hopefully though, the historical detail will serve to do a little dramatic heavy lifting for me, and provide people with a ready frame of reference.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy. Here's the latest chapter.

EDIT: A little bit added to the final conversation with Athelis, Monocles, Callisto and Leonidas. The original version didn't flow quite right and felt a bit unnatural. Some added lines here and there should help it move a little better.


	4. Chapter Three: Memories and Marathons

**Chapter Three: Memories and Marathons**

Callisto's horse moved at a slow trot along the trail as all around her the Spartans moved in a perfect escort formation. They were spread out in an even pattern along the trail, but were never more than a ten meters from each other. An easy distance from which they could reach their comrades, or throw their spears, she imagined. To her left, Athelis was walking at a brisk clip, his long loping stride keeping him even with her, while to the rear, Monocles shuffled along slowly in hushed conversation with Leonidas. The Spartan king had dismounted from his horse and was walking beside the smaller man so that Monocles would not be left behind.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the two of them. They were keeping their voices low; so low even that Callisto could not make out exactly what they were discussing. Whatever it was, Monocles seemed quite enthused about it, gesturing excitedly as Leonidas only listened with polite interest. She turned back to the trail ahead of them, not particularly looking at anything, and instead trying to work out just what exactly a Spartan king would want with an odd little man like Monocles.

Or herself for that matter.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of one of the Spartans watching her warily. She turned to meet his gaze and gave him a teasing wink. The man scowled and went back to watching the country side for any signs of ambush.

"Looks like you make them nervous," Athelis said from where he walked at her side.

"I make a lot of people nervous," Callisto replied.

"You don't say!" Athelis grinned in mock surprise. "Benefits of being a murderous psycho I suppose."

She looked at him curiously.

"I don't make you uncomfortable?"

Athelis shook his head.

"Nope. Known my fair share of murderous psychos. You don't impress me."

"Well then," Callisto said, fingering the hilt of her sword playfully, "we'll have to try and change that won't we!"

Athelis' grin never left his face, but suddenly his eyes turned cold.

"You'll have to try hard," he said, his hand drifting closer to the notched dagger strapped to his thigh.

Callisto's mouth widened in a sadistic smile.

"I've always enjoyed a challenge," she fired back.

"Have you two quite finished?" came a third voice. She twisted in her saddle to see Leonidas riding up to them both. He had remounted his horse and left Monocles behind.

"You, Mercenary," he said, pointing to Athelis.

"Great King," Athelis said, with a mocking bow.

"Go and and assist Monocles. He's having difficulty keeping up. Relieve him of his burdens for a little while."

Athelis did not drop back. Instead he deliberately kept to the same pace, ignoring Leonidas' order.

"I'm a blade for hire," he said casually. "Not a pack rat. He hired me for my sword arm, not to fetch and carry."

Leonidas leaned forward in his saddle threateningly.

"I would suggest that if you want to keep that sword arm attached to the rest of you, you do as you are told _mercenary_," he all but spat the last word as if it were some terrible insult.

Athelis glared at him darkly for a moment, his fist clenching tightly. Callisto briefly wondered if he was about to fling himself at the Spartan king. In the end he seemed to think better of it. His eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the mounted Spartans and their long spears all around him. Finally, he gave a slight nod and dropped back quietly to aid Monocles with his pack.

Leonidas watched him go, then turned back to face Callisto with a disdainful snort.

"Sell swords!" he sneered in disgust.

"You don't like him?" Callisto said, glancing back after Athelis. A tickling sensation at the back of her mind told her there was more to him than met the eye, and she was beginning to wonder just how much of a mercenary he really was.

"Can't say I blame you," she continued. "If I were in your position, I'd have had him stuffed and mounted by now."

Leonidas regarded her silently for a moment.

"Then it is probably to his benefit that you are not in my position." He sighed wearily and lifted his thumb and forefinger to massage the bridge of his nose, as if there were some pent up tension there. Finally he relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly, his posture, for a moment not one of a king, but instead, a tired and worried man.

"Come," he gestured for her to follow him. "I told you we have much to discuss, and we must do so in private before we reach the city."

Callisto cocked her head at him curiously, but followed anyway. As they rode toward the edge of their escort, one of the Spartans looked at Leonidas questioningly. He only waved the man aside, creating a gap in the escort perimeter through which Callisto and Leonidas passed silently.

Once they were clear, Leonidas eased his steed to a steady canter, Callisto doing likewise in an effort to keep pace. Some distance up the trail, they veered sharply from it, passing along a narrow creak bed that fed into a shallow pond filled with reeds and a crowd of dragonflies buzzing over lily covered surface. The hills curved gently upward to either side of it, and Leonidas continued up them, his horse leaving a trail of ruts in its wake. Callisto did likewise until, finally, they crested the hills up above the pond, and she drew her horse up to admire the view.

Less than a league away, Sparta lay, spread across the foothills of the now close mountains. The city was an imposing sight, high walls surrounding it and each was topped with ramparts and watch towers at regular intervals along their lengths. Inside the walls, the buildings were stark and fierce. Plainly decorated and with little attention paid to lavish ornamentation or architecture, they were a testament to the Spartan martial code that valued simplicity over ostentation, and efficiency over elaborateness.

More unusual and eye catching though, were the range of buildings around the city walls. Callisto was used to seeing scattered farming settlements and villages in the land around cities such as this. They often made for the best pillaging, having grown wealthy and fat from their proximity to the city, but benefiting only slightly from the city's own guard. Sparta was different though. There were still settlements scattered across the country side before her; mainly large farm houses, probably belonging to wealthy independents, or working as the the holdings of Spartan nobles. Where it differed was in what had grown up immediately around the Spartan city walls. Here, what amounted to a second city almost unto itself had sprang up. It lacked the stark and monolithic architecture that characterised Sparta, and instead consisted of a vast sprawl of shacks, huts, barns, grain houses and marketplaces. It looked as if what had once been a simple village had crawled like ivy along the walls of the city, spreading its tendrils this way and that without any rhyme or reason.

Leonidas dismounted from his horse, standing ankle deep in the long grass of the hill's peak. He seemed to have followed her gaze to the strange, ramshackle city.

"The Outer City," he said simply, "but most simply call it Helot town."

"Helot?" Callisto said, turning to face him.

"Our worker class," Leonidas replied. "All true born Spartans are soldiers. We do not farm, or toil, or study, or build. We fight. That is our purpose, tried and true. The Helots do those things for us, and join us as troops when we march into battle. They belong to the state of Sparta."

"Slaves then," Callisto said.

"If you wish to use such an ugly term."

"Slaves," Callisto said again, nodding to herself as her suspicions were confirmed.

"You disapprove?"

Callisto shrugged.

"I couldn't really care less," she said. "Slaves keep themselves enslaved as much as their owners do. If you value your freedom, you fight for it."

"I take it you value yours?"

She turned a heavy stare on him.

"Nobody, _keeps_ me," she hissed dangerously. "Even a Spartan King."

Leonidas only stared back at her levelly, never once flinching.

"Really?" he said, his voice genuinely curious. "You're not a slave then? Not even to your hatred of Xena?"

Callisto's glare turned savage as she felt a poisonous anger stirring in her chest at the thought of her dark haired nemesis.

"What has _that_ got to do with anything?" she snapped.

Leonidas simply continued to regard her steadily, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to figure her out.

"In reality, very little," he said. "Inside your own head; well, that remains to be seen."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"Just great," she sighed, slumping in her saddle. "A warrior philosopher. That's all I need."

Leonidas laughed at that. It was a genuine sound of amusement, but etched with a hint of weariness, as if it were an emotion he did not get to feel often.

"Not a warrior philosopher," he said shaking his head. "Just a warrior with a philosophy. The two are notably different. I must admit to being somewhat surprised though. I am well aware of your reputation and your feelings toward the Warrior Princess. So far, you are not quite how I imagined."

Callisto slipped from her saddle, and plopped herself down girlishly on the hillside, her long legs crossed and her back arched forward. She plucked a small flower from the grass beside her and begin to pick the petals from it absently. Memories of Penthos came back to her again, and all she could think of was sitting beside Caelon in a barn mere minutes before he was about to be hanged. They had talked a little, at first as enemies but later as something else she could not quite place. All she could think of was how she had eventually seen more of herself in the vicious bandit leader than she had liked to admit.

"I've been through a lot recently," she said vaguely. "I see things a little differently now than I used to.

"Quite obviously," Leonidas replied, moving to sit beside her.

She pulled the final petal from the flower, twisting the stalk gently between her fingers before she tossed it to one side and slapped her palms against her knees.

"Soooo..." she began, rolling the word off her tongue as she tried to change the subject, "...how do you know so much about me and, more importantly, how did you know I was going to be out here?"

Leonidas let out a long breath.

"That," he said, his voice perfectly measured and even, "is a complicated question."

Callisto glanced at him, the corners of her mouth curling up in a sardonic grin.

"I'm a clever girl," she said. "I think I can handle it."

Leonidas leaned back where he sat, his thick set arms taking his weight easily.

"I suppose it is better to start at the beginning," he said.

Callisto cocked her head and smiled winsomely.

"Oh how I do love a good story," she said, clapping her hand to her chest in a gesture of mock delight. Leonidas shot her an unreadable glance but continued on regardless.

"A year ago, the Persians attempted to invade Greece. We met them in battle at Marathon. It did not go well. We were outnumbered, and had it not been for Xena's intervention..." Callisto did her best not to growl at the mention of the other woman. "...we would have been out flanked and more than likely routed."

"And what, prey tell, did the good, the magnificent, the infallible, Apollo shines from her rear end, Xena do to aid you?" Callisto said, trying to keep the derision from her voice and failing miserably. She could not truly remember where she would have been when these events happened. Had been trapped in the Ixion caves at this point, or had she instead been trapped in that strange void between dimensions by Hercules? Either way she had been stuck somewhere, and hardly able to keep up on current events.

"She intercepted a Persian scouting party," Leonidas said, trying to ignore her sass. "They were landing a secondary force with the intention of flanking our army. Xena held off a force of three hundred elite Persian scouts single handed."

Unable to restrain herself, Callisto began a slow, sarcastic applause.

"Well bully for the Warrior Princess," she said, her voice dripping venom.

"Are you finished?" Leonidas said, throwing her an irritated look.

"Not by a long shot," she sneered, then adopting her most polite yet sarcastic tone she continued, "but please, do go on extolling the virtues of the woman who char broiled my family."

Leonidas' look changed at that, his annoyed stare becoming a look of sudden understanding. For a brief moment the two of them sat silent in the grass, watching one another. Finally Leonidas nodded.

"We were on the verge of defeat," he said. "Even with Xena's aid, the battle had taken a turn for the worse. But she had delayed the Persian reinforcements long enough, that our own managed to arrive in the form of the Athenians. When they joined the battle, the tide turned in our favour and the Persians were driven off."

"A typical Xena tale," Callisto muttered bitterly. "Always such a happy ending."

Leonidas shook his head.

"It does not end there," he said. "Marathon was costly for Sparta. We lost a great many men that day, both Spartan and Helot alike, while among the other Grecian city states, the Athenians have been given credit for the victory. Spartan pride was damaged and we've been licking our wounds this last year. The Persians have not been idle though. They are massing their forces for a fresh assault under the command of their God King Xerxes, and as at Marathon, it will be Sparta that is first in their line of attack."

"God King," Callisto pondered. "You'd think being one or the other would be enough."

Leonidas ignored her.

"My city is paralysed by inaction," he continued. "Xerxes' army is said to be so vast, that none have seen the like before. When they march, the ground shakes, and his so called Immortals leave a wake of terror wherever they roam. The Ephors, our ruling council, cannot decide on if we should go to war, and the Persians are playing to that uncertainty. Already their ambassadors are heading to Sparta with an offer of peace should we surrender to them."

"And all of this has to do with me, how?" Callisto said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as Leonidas spoke.

"I was just getting to that," he said, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. "I would not have peace and surrender handed to the Persians quite so easily. We are Spartans. We do not bend or break to any foe. To do so would be to give up _our_ freedom, earned long ago, and fought and died for on this very land. The Ephors though, are fearful. They have concerns at home that they think greater than the oncoming Persians. Peace is an option they will consider, even should its cost be our enslavement to Xerxes. I am no politician though; just a soldier guided by a philosophy. I spent many restless days and sleepless nights trying to decided on a course of action that would preserve our way of life in the face of this crisis. I could only think of one, and that required the aid of Monocles, whom you have already met."

"So he's here to help you start a war?" Callisto said, with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head. "The little guy doesn't seem the type."

"War is inevitable, whether we desire it or not, and he doesn't know my motives for bringing him here. Nor, I imagine, does he care. If he is successful, he will have what he wants, and I will have what I want."

"Still confused as to where I fit in," Callisto said.

"Monocles' success is not guaranteed. In fact, he is more my last resort. I knew that from the beginning, and so I went to our city's Oracle. She is a favoured daughter of Ares, and is granted with insight into the future from him. Her visions are often vague and difficult to interpret, but she was clear on one detail. You were approaching Sparta, and that the fate of our city, maybe even that of all Greece, would come to rest upon your shoulders."

Callisto frowned.

"Your Oracle told you this?" she said. "An Oracle of Ares?"

Leonidas nodded.

Her frown deepened. She and Ares had had a contentious relationship at the best of times. He had wanted her to be another Xena, a replacement for his lost obsession. She had only been interested in how she could use him to further her own ends. The two of them had butted heads as much as they had seen eye to eye on how to deal with Xena, and the idea that he would now be trying to use her like this was almost too bizarre to be believable. Unless...

"A champion of the gods," she breathed softly to herself.

"What was that?" Leonidas asked, having not heard her.

"Nothing," Callisto said with a shake of her head. "Just thinking, that's all."

She twisted in the grass, turning to face him fully now.

"So an Oracle tells you, you need me, and where to find me. You ride out and lo and behold, here I am. What exactly is your plan now that you have me?"

He shifted uncomfortably as he prepared to say something he knew she would not like.

"I plan to throw you into the middle of this, a rabid fox among the hens if you will forgive the analogy."

Callisto could only stare at him for a moment, her eyes blinking in confusion.

"So let me get this straight," she began. "You want me, to come with you, and what? Knock some heads together?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

Callisto gave a snort of dry amusement.

"You weren't kidding when you said you weren't a politician. I'm guessing a career as a merchant wouldn't fit you that well either."

"You will put both parties off balance," Leonidas said, ignoring her attempts at levity. "The Ephors don't know you are here. You're an unknown quantity to them. Your reputation alone will put the Persians on edge. After Marathon, they fear Xena, and you are the only person in all of Greece who has fought her to a stand still. If you were to be presented in alliance with Sparta..."

"...It might just make them think twice about attacking." Callisto finished for him.

"Exactly."

She clambered to her feet, and stood staring out over the foothills to stare at the city, her hands on her hips as a myriad different thoughts ran through her mind. _Did_ all of this have something to do with the gods? Was this part of Zeus' scheme? The old god had never been entirely clear about what he intended her to do, instead giving her some wishy washy nonsense about preventing chaos and tipping the scales of balance in the world back toward order. Well, stopping a war before it started would certainly count toward that! One jaunt to Sparta, and she would be that much closer to her promised place in Elysium.

She frowned.

Something still did not sit right in all this. The fact that Leonidas had been guided by an Oracle of Ares was disconcerting since, to the best of her knowledge, the only gods who had known of her resurrection were Zeus and Hades. The coincidence of Perites was disturbing as well. There was more to that than she understood.

As she thought about Perites, and the Headstone just outside Penthos, memories of the Underworld, and the creeping shadows there that had seemed to have a mind of their own, drifted through her thoughts, a dark sense of foreboding accompanying them. Something was not right in the world. She could feel it, like a sixth sense itching uncomfortably at the back of her mind. Maybe all of this was connected somehow. Perites had, after all, been attempting to kill Monocles and Athelis, both in service of Leonidas, however indirectly. Getting involved might just flush the truth out from the crawling shadows and into the brightness of day.

She heard the grass rustle as Leonidas stepped up behind her.

"Normally I would not involve one such as you in this," he said. "I know your kind too well. Roving warlords and raiders, all driven by hate and spite, trying to carve out some place for yourself in the world by the tip of your sword. Your reputation alone would suggest that you are among the very worst of them. A dangerous, unpredictable woman, as likely to turn and spear an ally as lend them a helping hand. I had my doubts even as I rode out here to find you. On meeting you though, I find that..."

Callisto shook her head and raised a hand to cut him off.

"Okay," she said hurriedly, "Alright, I'll help you, but on one condition," she said.

"Name it."

"Spare me another 'you're not what I expected' speech."


	5. Chapter Four: Sparta

**Chapter Four: Sparta**

The ride into Sparta itself was relatively uneventful. Callisto and Leonidas rejoined the escort as it rounded a final bend in the trail and emerged onto a wider, but rough churned dirt track that ran over the open ground between them and the city.

As the city rose up out of the foothills before them, Callisto found herself surprised by the sheer size of Sparta. From the hilltop it had appeared large and imposing, but the closer they grew toward it, the more its sheer, monolithic stature became apparent. It loomed stark and massive, framed by the sheer grey crags of the mountains at its back. Indeed, the city itself seemed to have been built with the intention of using the mountains as a fourth wall, higher and stronger than anything that could be built by man. At this distance she could just make out the figures of more Spartan soldiers, small figures with red crested helms. They strode back and forth across the ramparts of the walls, their spears and shields shining so brightly in the mid afternoon sun that they were visible even at this great distance.

As she stared up at the city, and did her best not to let her mouth hang open in slack jawed amazement, her horse began to slow, and before long she found she had inadvertently dropped back in the escort until she was riding beside Athelis and Monocles, the former now shouldering the weight of the latter's pack and wearing a bad tempered scowl. Monocles looked up at her and smiled excitedly. The revelation of her identity did not seem to have phased him too much.

"Quite a sight is it not?" he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "One of the great Grecian cities and a true rival to Athens, although neither would ever admit such a thing to the other."

Callisto nodded mutely. She was beginning to understand why warlords like Xena and Draco had never tested their strength against the Spartans. Those walls, when combined with the mountains, served to make the city easily defensible, and any siege laid to it would doubtless make the decade long siege of Troy look like a back yard skirmish by comparison.

The escort party continued its journey in silence while all about them, slowly, the wild, grassy plain over which they were riding began to give way to the first hints of civilisation. At first it was just a few small things. Grass here and there seemed shorter, probably trimmed by grazing animals, and in places small patches of wheat and other cereal crops were growing. As they continued, these things began to become increasingly evident, the fields growing larger and larger with small farm buildings appearing in the distance. At one point they passed a small, single storey inn, clearly a stopover for farmers and the like walking their crops and cattle into the city.

A small patrol of Spartans were passing in the opposite direction, and they stopped in their tracks at the sight of Leonidas, now riding at the head of the escort. Each of them immediately dropped to their knees in reverence as he rode past them, their eyes downcast in supplication. Leonidas merely nodded to them as they passed, and soon the soldiers had disappeared off up the trail behind them.

Gradually, more and more buildings began to spring up around them, and before long the rolling fields had gone, replaced instead by clustered huts and shacks in among larger stone buildings. Callisto almost immediately recognised her surroundings as the Helot town she had observed from the hillside. The buildings were generally rag tag and ramshackle. Most were low lying, being only one or two storeys in height, and many were little more than lean-tos, wooden frames with patched and waxed fabrics stretched across them to act as roofs. Some buildings were larger, and those that were were more richly appointed, some even sporting hanging pots of flowers, finely embroidered banners and other decorations.

Between the buildings ran a dizzying network of narrow streets filled with stalls, wagons, and washing lines. Where there were not stalls and carts, there were people; throngs upon throngs of people. Callisto had seldom seen so many people gathered together in one place before. They bustled every which way, going about their daily business in a manner that seemed at first chaotic, but that became increasingly hypnotic the more one watched it. Street vendors hawked their wares left and right, and tradesmen hefted bolts of cloth or large sacks of grain as they ploughed their way through the crowds.

They were the kinds of people Callisto would have used to view as victims; weaponless, guileless, and weak, like new born spring lambs to a farmer's slaughter house. They came in all shapes and sizes, some tall and lean, others short and solid, or any combination in between, but one and all they eyed the Spartan escort with an air of suspicion and anger. The crowd parted before them as they rode through, but it seemed less out of respect for the soldiers and more out of fear. The air ran thick with a barely suppressed anger, and the sense of tension all about them was stretched so taught that Callisto half imagined she could slice through it like it were a harp string.

Dark mutterings and angry whispers rippled through the bustling crowd as they passed, but Leonidas and his men either did not notice, or simply chose to ignore them. They rode as straight backed and disciplined as they ever had, apparently oblivious to the negative feelings they were engendering.

Athelis and Monocles were clearly not oblivious to it though. They moved closer to the center of the escort, casting uncomfortable glances left and right as the crowd stirred uneasily about them.

"Something is most definitely not right here," Monocles whispered quietly up at her. "The Helot's have forever been loyal to Sparta. They even fought at Marathon alongside their Spartan lords. Why should they seem so… so…"

"Angry?" Callisto offered in a voice of mock cheerfulness. "Spiteful? Hate filled?"

She shrugged.

"Who knows? Maybe they've just finally had enough." She flashed the hostile looking crowd of Helots a defiant glare, while next to Monocles, Athelis nodded in agreement with her.

"Kick a dog hard, and enough times, and sooner or later he'll turn and bite you," he said darkly, his hand hovering close to the hilt of his sword.

They fell back into silence as the walls of the city loomed large and bleak above the rooftops above them. A large pair of heavy wooden gates banded with iron ribs stood before them, and as one, the escort drew to a halt in front of them. Callisto felt her horse tread nervously beneath her, and she reached out a soothing hand to pat it on the neck. The animal only snorted and pranced even more nervously in response.

Next to Leonidas, one of the Spartans produced a horn crafted from supple pine and with a bone mouth piece. He blew into it hard, and the long note echoed mournfully out and over the city.

As the not faded all was silence, then a silhouette appeared on the ramparts above.

"Ho down there!" the silhouette called. "And what is the watchword for the day?"

"Charybdis!" called back the Spartan with the horn.

"Pass friend," the man atop the wall replied.

There was the deep rumble of beams being pulled back, and the loud grunting of soldiers as the gates of Sparta proper were heaved open.

The change as they passed from outer city of the Helots to the inner city of the Spartans was dramatic. The buildings around them seemed to grow massively in size until even the small town houses would appear as palaces to the unprepared. Somehow though, despite all their grandeur, Callisto thought they seemed to lack the life of the buildings back beyond the other side of the wall. Their decoration was more reserved, where it was present at all, and the whole place reeked of sterility and stoicism. The track upon which they rode had changed too, from the rustic dirt and uneven cobbles that wound their way through Helot, to smooth set and evenly spaced stone paving here. The hustle and bustle of the outer city vanished in an instant, and as the gates closed behind them, even the sounds of it were reduced to a muted murmur at the edges of hearing.

The people were as uniform as the style of buildings. While there were minor differences in build and no two faces were the same, as a rule the men were all tall and well muscled, with close cropped dark hair and wide shoulders. The women were a little more varied in build than the men, but again, all looked fit and strong, with the same sleek dark hair. They sported it in more styles than the men, though these styles remained simple and utilitarian for the most part.

Callisto caught a few of them curiously eyeing her own insane tangle of blonde hair at the corner of her vision. She suddenly felt a strange, self conscious urge to run a smoothing hand through it, but suppressed it almost immediately. Instead she twisted in her saddle, clutching tightly to her horse's reins, and glared back at them, a fierce glint in her eyes. The women seemed unimpressed and simply turned to go on about their business, as if she were little more than a common bandit being dragged into the city for an execution. Something about that made the ever present anger in Callisto's gut churn darkly. How she would love to jump down, draw her sword and show these haughty, stuck up prigs a thing or two about the reality of the world beyond their high walls.

She let out a low breath, attempting to calm herself before she said or did something she would regret. She had a feeling that even Leonidas, no matter how much he thought he needed her, would not take kindly to her threatening to horse whip his citizens right in front of him.

"So we're here," she announced to no one in particular. "Where to now?"

As if in answer a second baleful horn sounded from somewhere in the distance and a lone Spartan emerged from a small hut situated just inside the gate they had just passed through. His helm was tucked neatly under his arm and sported a crest somewhere between the regular soldiers and Leonidas' in terms of length. Callisto assumed that the length must denote rank or status, making this man the equivalent of a captain.

Like the rest of them, he was broad shouldered but had a barrel chest to match, giving him the appearance of walking ale keg. He cast a suspicious glance at Callisto and the others but said nothing, instead turning to face Leonidas and dropping to one knee as the men on the road earlier had done.

"Great King," he said simply. "We have been anxiously awaiting your return."

Leonidas motioned to the man to rise.

"Anxiousness in these times?" he said with a wry smile, as the man got back to his feet. "Who would have thought it?"

He leaned forward in his saddle.

"What is it that brings you to meet me, Sentos? Has Demosthenes finally seen sense?"

Sentos shook his head.

"King Demosthenes has sent no response to your proposal yet my King," he said, and Callisto frowned. Who was this Demosthenes? Where was he king of? She glanced at Monocles, hoping to catch his attention so that he could whisper her answer. The man seemed to have an almost obsessive interest in the Spartans, but his attention was completely occupied by the discussion taking place in front of them.

"The Ephors have called an emergency council session though."

Leonidas stiffened slightly in his saddle. Apparently that was less than good news.

"Why so suddenly?" he asked.

"An outrider from the Persians arrived shortly after your departure this morning." Sentos replied. "Their ambassadorial delegation will be arriving here within the hour! The Ephors wish to settle the our current disagreements so that we may present a united front against them."

Leonidas scowled darkly.

"Do they now?" he said. Callisto had enough experience with anger to know when someone was holding tightly to it.

Sentos nodded, apparently ignorant of Leonidas' temperament.

"I told them you were indisposed at present, but they only warned me that if you are not present in council, then your voice, and any potential veto they may have allowed you, will be forfeit."

Leonidas straightened in his saddle and turned to regard his men.

"It appears I am required elsewhere men," he said. "Sentos, take command in my absence and return to my Palace. Muster the personal guard and prepare the training grounds. I want the men on a wartime regimen before the end of the day."

Sentos' expression never changed, but his eyes took on a look of surprising eagerness.

"You think it will come to that Great King? Will it really be war?"

Leonidas spared him a glance as he turned his horse and began to start off up the road.

"We are Spartans, Sentos," he said. "When is it ever not a war?"

Callisto rolled her eyes. It was easy to see why Ares liked these guys so much.

Leonidas glanced at her and gestured up the road with a tilt of his head.

"Come on," he said. "I want you with me at this meeting."

He glanced back over his shoulder at Monocles.

"And you of course, Monocles," he said, seemingly as an afterthought.

"What about me?" Athelis spoke up for the first time since they had entered the inner city.

"_You _can do whatever you like," Leonidas replied, his tone all but dripping with scorn. As usual the implied derision seemed to slide of Athelis water off waxed papyrus.

"Then I'll come," Athelis said, glancing at Monocles. "I have a paycheck to collect after all."

Leonidas gave an unconcerned grunt and trotted off up the road, Callisto cracking her reins to move her horse alongside his while Monocles and Athelis following close behind.

"Are you sure you want me at this meeting?" she asked as she drew even with him. "In case you hadn't heard, diplomacy is not exactly my strong suit."

"Really?" Leonidas replied sarcastically. "I honestly had no idea."

He let out a soft, uncertain sigh.

"I just need you there. You're my ace in the hole. I'm just not sure how I'm going to play you yet."

"So just stand around in the background looking wild eyed and menacing?" Callisto grinned. "I can do that."

Leonidas nodded.

"Play up to your reputation a little," he said. "I want them uncertain of you."

"My reputation?" Callisto said. "My reputation if for wanton destruction and casual, off handed murder. You want me to do that?" As she spoke a tone of childish innocence entered into her voice. She glanced over at the Spartan king, and her grin widened when she caught sight of the surprised look of horror on Leonidas' face.

"Too much?" she said.

He nodded silently.

"Thought so," she said, then let out a mock sigh of surrender. "Ah well, I suppose I can always fall back on the old threatening people's families routine. That one usually works well, although I have to admit in the past I did use to follow up on those threats..."

Leonidas rolled his eyes and then snapped his reins, urging his horse on ahead of them to be alone with his thoughts as Callisto chuckled softly to herself behind him. Maybe this would be fun after all.

For a while the four of them rode on in silence, the even clip-clop rhythm of Callisto and Leonidas' horses echoing off the paved roadway they followed. Slowly the buildings around them grew larger and increasingly affluent, and the road began to curve up hill. It was gentle at first, but quickly became steeper as they went higher and higher into the foothills of the mountains over which the inner city had spread.

Ahead of them Leonidas continued to lead the way, sat confidently in his horse, his back straight and his rich cloak shifting gently on the breeze. There was something too mannered about it all; his back was almost _too_ straight, his shoulders too firmly set. There was a knot of tension at the base of his neck, and the way he held his jaw spoke of barely restrained frustration.

"Such a picture of nobility isn't he," she heard Monocles say. He had walked up alongside her and was no keeping pace with the even trot of her horse, his staff clacking loudly off the stone.

Callisto only snorted in response.

"You are not impressed?" Monocles said, his eyes widening in surprise at her scornful tone.

"He's just a man," she replied. "All poised and draped in finery, but still just a man."

Monocles shook his head.

"He's more than that!" he protested. "He's a descendent of the Agiad line, right back to the Lycurgus, and with a mandate granted by Olympus and Ares himself to rule."

Callisto turned and glared at him at the mention of the war god.

"All the less reason to be impressed," she said.

Monocles mouth fell open in stunned amazement.

"You do not worship the gods?"

"Why bother? They know where to find me."

"But one such as yourself..."

"'One such as me'?" Callisto said, arching an eyebrow at shorter man. Monocles simply bungled on as if he had not heard her.

"...surely you pay tribute to Ares at the very least?"

"Tribute!" Callisto laughed and spat roughly on the road surface. "How's that for tribute?"

Monocles fell back into shocked silence.

She turned in her saddle to see Athelis only a couple of strides behind them, still with Monocles' heavy looking pack shouldered, and seemingly lost in thought as he trudged along.

"And you?" she asked. "When was the last time you set foot in a temple?"

"Three years and seven months ago," Athelis said absently, as if he were not really listening to either of them.

Callisto's eyes narrowed. It was an answer she had not really expected. It had come too quickly and been too precise, as if he were gauging time from that point. She was about to say something else when they rounded a final bend in the road and Leonidas drew his horse up in front of them.

"We've arrived," he said, gesturing expansively, and as he did so, Callisto caught her first sight of Sparta's grand council hall. It was nestled at the foot of a hill, the road splitting in two and sweeping up the slopes to either side of them before reconnecting at its crest continuing up to the very base of the mountains. At the end of the road was a large temple, distant, dark and ominous, built as it was from blackest marble that the sunlight did not seem to touch.

Leonidas followed her gaze.

"Ares' high temple," he said simply. "The Oracle resides there."

Callisto felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine, as if she were being watched. Considering how Ares liked to plot and scheme, she wondered if that might not be far from the truth. She glanced around, fully expecting to see nothing. She was not disappointed, and instead turned her attention back to the council hall. It was grand but far from ostentatious. Built of the same stone as much of the rest of the inner city, and with a high domed roof, it reminded her somewhat of Ares' Halls of War. The front doors were flanked only by a few simple pillars. There was no statuary or running water, no intricate stone work or gold leaf, none of the opulent displays of wealth and power shown by other cities.

"These are the city council chambers," Leonidas explained. "It is here that the Kings sit in consultation with the Ephors."

"You've mentioned them before," Callisto said, and dismounted from her horse in a single easy motion as a pair of Helots emerged from a side door to the council hall and moved to take the reins from her. "You said they were the ruling council. Aren't you the King though?"

Leonidas gave her a patient look.

"I am _a_ king," he said. "Not _The _King_. _There are five sitting Ephors at any one time. They are the voice of all Spartan citizens and may come from any class of Spartan. It is they who rule and control the city. They sit in consultation with the two Spartan Kings, of which I am one. We act as generals for the armies and as advisers on military matters both domestic and abroad."

"Two kings?" Callisto said, cocking her head slightly at him. "You don't do things by halves do you?"

She stretched, tired from the long day spent in the saddle, and felt her spine give a satisfying pop.

"So who's this other king?"

Leonidas gave a weary sigh and clambered down from his horse, handing the reins to one of the waiting Helots without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. The man bowed deeply, and began to lead his horse away, but Callisto thought she caught him directing a venom filled backward glance over his shoulder at Leonidas as he left.

"That would be Demosthenes," Leonidas said and began to stride purposefully toward the entrance to the council chambers. "He has served as King longer. It was Demosthenes who recommended we ride to Marathon in alliance with Athens. He lost a full half of his men there. Since then he's become more conservative and distrustful."

They stepped up in front of the doors to council chambers and Leonidas unslung his heavy shield, holding it loosely at his side along with his spear. With his free hand he motioned to Callisto and Athelis to do the same.

"The council chambers are the one place in the city it is forbidden to go armed, unless you are assigned to the watch. You must surrender your weapons upon entering."

Callisto glanced at Athelis, expecting more push back from the recalcitrant mercenary, but he simply shrugged, unbuckling his sword and the notched dagger strapped to his thigh. She sighed and did the same, unclasping the sword strapped across her back and holding it so that it dangled limply by its harness from between her fingers.

Leonidas gave a nod of approval and reached up to pound on the doors heavily with his fist. For a moment, all was silence. Monocles shifted uneasily.

"Maybe we're too late?" he suggested. "Perhaps the session has already begun and they do not wish to be interrupted?"

As if in answer, there was a loud scraping sound, followed by groan of ancient hinges as the doors were pulled back wide.

"Well then, here we go," Callisto heard Athelis mutter as they stepped over the threshold and into the council chambers beyond.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies for the long time its taken me to get this chapter up. As I said when I started this story, the plot here is a fair bit more complicated than anything else I have ever tried to write before, with a great deal of moving parts and characters to set up. The reason for this is that this story is doing what in my original stories I actually took two or three stories to tell. The problem then, was that those stories were built around only one or two events, and that they weren't truly stories as a result as there just wasn't enough meat to them a large portion of the time. For instance, my original second story was titled 'Mortius' and it pretty much involved Callisto's first encounter with the black clad man of shadows. Unfortunately it did pretty much nothing else. In hindsight I've realised that that's not a story, it's a plot point. This story is therefore combining a lot of plot lines that were originally separate, tying them all together into a more cohesive whole, and this chapter is where it really all starts to kick in. As such I've had to be very careful with it, making sure I set things up adequately without it becoming too tedious. Not sure I managed it to be honest, but ah well, that's the price I have to pay I guess, and it's been a good learning experience, although difficult.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and are intrigued enough by it to keep reading. Have fun, and I'll be back with another update soon.

EDIT: I've altered the chapter divisions, so that a chunk of chapter four now is in chapter five. This makes the council take place over the whole of chapter five, rather than being split across chapters 4 and 5 as was the case previously.


	6. Chapter Five: The Offer

Chapter Five: The Offer

There was no corridor beyond beyond the doors, no receiving chamber or anteroom. Instead, they opened straight onto the council floor and as Callisto stepped inside she found herself immediately flanked by four Spartan soldiers, two to either side. Two immediately dropped to their knees as Leonidas entered, but the remaining two stepped forward, their hands outstretched to relieve the new arrivals of their weapons. Leonidas handed off his spear and shield in prompt order, followed by Athelis who looked completely nonplussed by the whole thing. Monocles even handed over his staff, somewhat distractedly it had to be said, as he gazed around the chamber in open eyed awe.

"Incredible," she thought she heard him whisper.

One of the soldiers was standing before her now, his hand outstretched and waiting. She did not know if he was aware of who she was, but it seemed the ideal moment to play up her reputation a little. She tilted her head and smiled innocently, as if she did not understand him. The soldier's eyes narrowed and he flexed the fingers of his outstretched hand, indicating that he should hand over her sword.

"Ah of course, how silly of me," she said. She held out the sword for him, but as he reached for it, she flicked it away, smiling playfully as she did so.

Leonidas watched her, frowning as she continued to tease the soldier. The man reached for the weapon again, and she flicked it out of his reach once more, this time laughing as she did so. She could feel the eyes of the everyone in the room on them, and clearly he could too. With a snarl of vexation he lunged for the weapon and Callisto neatly side stepped him, twirling gracefully as she did so, and whipping the sheathed sword around so that its flat side smacked him neatly across the rear with loud slap.

One of the watching soldiers let out a snort of amusement only to be silenced by a hard look from Leonidas. The beleaguered soldier rounded on her furiously, but Callisto simply flashed him a wicked grin then bowed, proffering him up the sword with it laid flat across both palms.

The soldier regarded her suspiciously for a moment, and then, at a nod from Leonidas, snatched it angrily from her grasp. Leonidas glared at her for a moment as she straightened, then turned with a shake of his head and started into council chamber proper. Callisto flashed the soldier a final gleeful grin then span on her heel to follow the others.

As she stepped out onto the council floor, she had to try hard not crane her neck to take it all in. The chamber was huge but plain. Ahead, a short flight of steps ran up onto the wide open space of the speaker's floor, and around it all ran a series of stone benches accessed by more rows of steps that led up to the outer walls of the chamber. The seats were filled with people, and Callisto could feel all eyes in the room following them as they ascended the steps up onto the speaker's floor.

At the opposite end of the chamber to where she now stood, there was a single stone bench with a high back, and along its length sat five men, each one dressed in simple white robes. There were a varied bunch. Some appeared younger, while others seemed to be firmly in the grasp of middle age. One was completely bald, but with a long unkempt beard that spilled down his chest like a silver waterfall, and heavy lidded eyes that, none the less, still seemed keen and alert.

As they entered, the sight of Leonidas caused all within the chamber to stand then drop to one knee, save the five men seated before them, and two other men, the first seated off to the right. He was seated among the front row of benches, but his seat was separate, akin to a throne and with a small table set up at its side upon which a heavy looking helmet rested. It was similar to Leonidas' but with a thicker nose guard and a wider flare at the base. The crest was at least as tall as the crest on Leonidas' helm if not maybe even taller.

Demosthenes, she presumed.

He was older than Leonidas, but age had not withered him. He looked leaner than the majority of Spartans she had seen, but was still broad, with powerful arms and short cropped black hair that was flecked through with grey at the temples. Slumped in his seat, he looked bored by the proceedings so far, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that suggested that appearance was mere affectation.

Her attention was drawn back to the five men she presumed were the Ephors, as the bald man she had noted earlier clambered from his seat and gestured with both hands for the people around the chamber to rise. They did so with a rustle of cloth and the creaking of leather, before seating themselves.

"Leonidas," the man said firmly, in the tones of school master scolding a prize pupil. "you are late. We summoned you here two hours ago."

His voice, a deep, resounding bass that had been cracked by age, echoed off the council hall chambers and Leonidas bowed his head in a slight sign of supplication.

"My sincerest apologies, Nestus" he replied, addressing himself to the bald man, but loud enough for the whole room to hear. "I was drawn away unexpectedly on urgent personal business."

The old man, Nestus apparently, raised an eyebrow at him and eyed Callisto and the others with them.

"Indeed," he said with a wry paternal smile. "Quite the company you are keeping today, I must say. A mercenary, an Athenian, and a..."

He trailed off as he looked Callisto up and down curiously.

"...an unknown," he finished, turning his questioning gaze back to Leonidas.

"Ah yes," Leonidas said as if he had momentarily forgotten them. "Allow me to introduce my honoured guests to the council."

He stepped aside, waving Monocles forward as he did so. The small, rotund man stepped forward, his face flushed with breathless excitement.

"This is Monocles, of Athens," Leonidas

Out of the corner of her eye, Callisto saw Demosthenes straighten in his seat, his dark eyes narrowing. Callisto could not decide if it had been at the mention of Monocles' name, or the mention of his being an Athenian.

"He is a student of Herodotus, the father of History, and I have invited him here so that our own stories may be documented for future posterity."

Monocles gave an uneasy bow, then produced a soft scrap like piece of cloth and proceeded to mop his profusely sweating brow.

"It is my greatest honour, my lords, to be presented before you today," he said, slipping into the cultured tones of a high born Athenian once more. "I had never imagined in my life that I would be able to share in such august company as your own. Your great city and its history has long been of the utmost fascination to me. It would be most humbling to me, not to mention my most desired wish, if you were to open your great city's records up to me. I swear that, should you allow me to document your city and its long and mighty history, it will live forever at the height of posterity."

His minor speech over, Monocles fell silent. Callisto glanced between the Spartans. Demosthenes looked less than impressed. His lip was curled upward in a sneer at the smaller man, and a number of the Spartan soldiers at his back looked similarly unimpressed.

Nestur and the Ephors on the other hand seemed less condescending. They traded quietly amused looks, and a few of them nodded to Nestur, who in turn merely cocked his head in acceptance and seated himself back on the bench with a smile.

"You are welcome here, Monocles of Athens," he said. "Our records, such as they are, are open to you. However, please do not name us Lords. We are simply elected officials, here to serve our term and then retire back to our everyday lives. "

Monocles gave another gracious bow, no longer seeming quite so nervous.

"I thank you my lo..." he began, then swallowed as he realised his error.

"I thank you," he finished simply.

Well at least that solved the minor mystery as to why Leonidas had summoned Monocles. Callisto still frowned though. It did raise the bigger question as to why Leonidas would care, considering the current crisis he was facing. Surely finding someone to chronicle Sparta's past should be low on his list of priorities right now.

"The second man is a mercenary guard hired by Monocles. I beg the council's forbearance on his presence here," Leonidas continued, this time gesturing to Athelis.

A soft murmur of discontent went up around the room, but Nestus silenced it with a wave of his hand. He fixed Leonidas with an even stare.

"He is here as your guest as well I take it?"

Leonidas nodded grudgingly.

"He is in the service of Monocles. As I extend my hospitality to him, so I must extend my hospitality to this one."

Athelis said nothing. Instead, as if trying to annoy the Spartans even more, he gave an overly elaborate bow of his own, flourishing with his hands neatly as he did so.

"My Lords," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Nestus stiffened, and shifted his affronted glare back to Leonidas.

"You will be responsible for him while he is here," he said. It was not a request.

Leonidas gave another slow nod.

"I will."

Nestus and the other Ephors looked suitably mollified at that, and the old man turned to regard her once again.

"Which would just leave you then," Nestus said, speaking to her directly now.

Callisto straightened and placed her hands on her hips as she stared him neatly in the eye.

"So it would seem," she replied and turned to Leonidas.

"Well," she said testily. It was not taking much effort to play up to the role that he expected of her. All this pomp and bluster was beginning to bore her. It was time to inject some life into the proceedings. "Are you going to introduce me to these nice gentlemen then? Or shall I just do it myself?"

Leonidas fixed her with a warning look, but Callisto ignored it. Instead she turned back to the Ephors and was about to speak again, when the Spartan King hurriedly jumped in to cut her off.

"This is the warlord Callisto," he said sharply.

Both the Ephors and Demosthenes straightened at that as a ripple of alarm went up throughout the assembled watchers.

Nestus was already on his feet again, his face turning scarlet with outrage.

"Callisto!" he said, his aged voice no longer old and cracked, but instead filled with fire. "_The _Callisto!"

Leonidas did not so much as flinch in the face of the older man's fury. Neither did Callisto.

"It looks like you've heard of me," she smirked. "I had no idea I was so renowned."

In actual fact, that was not even that far from the truth. While she had never doubted that her name would become known as a vicious warlord and butcher of women and children, the reputation had never really concerned her. It had been a byproduct of her quest for revenge against Xena for the most part and she had never really tried to find out just how far words of her deeds had spread. Judging by the reactions she had had in Penthos and now here, the answer to that last little puzzle seemed to be 'quite far.'

"This..." Nestus continued, ignoring her and turning his glare back to Leonidas, "..._woman_ is your guest!?"

His voice was barely restrained steel. Leonidas simply nodded.

"She is."

"Why?"

"The Persians are coming," Leonidas replied. "Whether you are willing to face up to it or not, Xerxes and his forces are on their way, and they will be at out gates first. We need allies if we are to stand against them."

"And you think some murdering warlord from the North is that ally?" Demosthenes said, entering the conversation for the first time.

Callisto turned to face him. He was leaning forward in his seat, appearing more intrigued than angry by the whole situation.

"We are Spartan's Leonidas," he continued, "Our strength is the greatest in all of Greece. No other city or army can stand before us. Why should the Xerxes and his army be any different?"

"It was the Persians who had us dead to rights at Marathon." Leonidas replied to his fellow king. "And it was Xena who turned the tide there. If not for her, our forces would have been overrun and wiped out to the man."

"Then bring us Xena," Nestus said in exasperation. "She, at least, has a code, something she stands for! All this one has ever is stood for is her own gratification."

Callisto's eyes narrowed.

"Be very careful how you talk about Xena in my presence old man," she said dangerously. "She has caused me more suffering than you could ever know."

Nestus was opening his mouth to speak again, when a mournful horn blast echoed in from outside. It was the same horn that had signaled Leonidas' arrival. For a moment all was silent save the uncomfortable shuffling of some of the watchers on the benches, then a second fierce blast of the horn sounded. The room erupted into excited chatter, and Nestus turned back to the other Ephors; Callisto seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Leonidas leaned in close to her side.

"They're here," he hissed quietly to her.

"Who are?" she said, frowning.

"The Persians," he replied. "Or at least their ambassador is. Come on, we need to get ready. Just follow my lead, alright?"

He moved off to the left, striding purposefully toward an unoccupied seat that was the perfect mirror image of the one in which Demosthenes now sat. Callisto followed close behind him, with Monocles and Athelis only a few steps behind her. As he neared the chair, Leonidas unclasped his cloak, draping it over the arm of the seat before slumping down into it himself, his pose similar to Demosthenes'.

Callisto seated herself on the bench next to Leonidas' seat, leaning forward with her fingers laced together and her elbows resting on her bare knees while Monocles and Athelis slid onto the bench alongside her. She let her eyes sweep across the gathered crowds that were seated in a circle around the council floor. Mostly they appeared to be Spartans judging, by the relatively uniform sea of faces staring back at her. Here and there, others were seated, clearly not of Spartan origin as they were often smaller and sported a greater variety of features and hair colours. In one corner of the chamber, a number of such individuals were seated together. Callisto estimated there to be about fifteen of them, all sat in a close huddle and muttering unhappily amongst themselves.

All save one.

Even sitting, he was tall. Probably taller than any of the Spartans even, and he was almost as broad shouldered. Like them, he wore his hair close cropped, but unlike them, it was dusky shade of blonde. His eyes were narrowed and a little too close together, giving him a vaguely predatory look. Instead of talking with his fellows, he was watching the Ephors' discussions intently, a slight frown drawn across his face, his mouth set in a grim line. When he felt her gaze upon him, he turned, looking directly at her. Callisto did not look away, meeting his stare with a level one of her own.

Curious, she nudged Leonidas with her elbow.

"Who's that?" she said, gesturing toward the man with a flick of her head.

Leonidas took a deep breath as if to martial his patience. Clearly he was not used to being treated with so little reverence. Well, it would do him good to be treated as a normal person for a change.

He followed her gaze, and locked eye contact with the the man seated on the benches. The man gave him an acknowledging nod, which Leonidas returned. Clearly they knew each other. The man turned back and began to engage one of those around him in conversation.

"Well?" said Callisto expectantly.

"That's Ithius," Leonidas said flatly.

"He's a Helot," he nodded toward the crowd of people around the other man. "They all are. Or at least they used to be."

"Used to be?"

"They were freed last year, along with two thousand others, all part of a unit of Helots that accompanied us to Marathon. It's the reason they can sit in Council like that. Helots are not permitted entrance, but free citizens of Sparta are."

"You freed two thousand Helots?" Callisto said.

"You sound surprised."

She cocked her head.

"A little," she nodded. "two thousand is a fairly sizable number. You weren't worried about a revolt or something?"

"It's precisely because of that that we freed them," Leonidas explained. "There's been a growing sense of dissatisfaction with Spartan rule among the Helots for years, but our might has kept them in check for the most part. After Marathon our numbers were severely depleted. If we were to avoid an outright rebellion..."

"...You needed an olive branch," Callisto said, starting to put the pieces together.

Leonidas nodded.

"The Helots often accompany us to war. Those who fight for Sparta and exemplify themselves on the battlefield can earn freedom..." he paused and Callisto could tell what he was thinking.

"...one way or the other?" she finished for him.

"That's right."

"Well if he's alive and sitting here, he did something exemplary," Callisto said, folding her arms as she looked levelly at Leonidas. "What was it?"

Leonidas leaned back in his chair and let out a long tired exhale.

"He saved my life," he said.

Before Callisto had the opportunity to speak again, she suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye that made her back stiffen and her hairs stand on end. Seated behind Ithius and the other Helots, was another cluster of individuals. They were each clad in the same crimson robes she had first seen at Penthos, all stitched across with strange symbols in a darker crimson and the image of sickle on the collar. Familiar though the robes they wore were, it was a man seated among them who caught her attention. She had met him before, and she supposed she should not be surprised to see him here now, what with having encountered and killed Perites on the road earlier.

Pelion looked the same as he had in Penthos. His face still had the look of ancient parchment stretched taught across his skull, but with that same strange youthful vibrancy she had noted in the past. He had his hands folded into the voluminous sleeves and was seated with an air of assured self confidence that made him stand out from his hunched compatriots. He did not seem to be paying any attention to the discussions taking place around him, or on the council chamber floor. Instead his attention was directed on Callisto and those with seated with her.

Frowning, she followed traced his gaze to its focus. He was watching Athelis.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to process what this could all mean when a terrific banging sounded from the huge double doors. Nestus rose from his seat and motioned for silence, the room quickly obliging him. He nodded toward the four soldiers at the door.

"We are ready," he said. "Show them in."

The huge double doors to the council chamber were pulled open, the mid afternoon sunlight spilling in around them from outside. Callisto straightened in her seat, all thoughts she had been having of Pelion and the reason for his presence here momentarily forgotten as she caught her first sight of the Persian ambassador and his party.

After her village had been destroyed she had traveled for a time, joining up with any and all warrior bands she came across. She had traveled with bandits, mercenaries and warlords out beyond the borders of Greece, and into the world beyond. Everywhere she had gone, she had tried to find people to teach her; people who would impart their skills to her so that she could ultimately use them against Xena. In all that time though, she had never encountered any Persians, and she was interested to get her first look at them.

She had to admit to being slightly disappointed by them. She had thought she stood out in comparison to the bulky and powerful Spartans, what with her battle gear, slim frame and blonde hair, but these people could not have stood in starker contrast even if they had tried... which,come to think of it, they may very well have been trying to do. The first men inside were smaller than she had imagined though. Of a more natural height and build than the hulking Spartans, one and all they had dark skin and dark hair. They were dressed in conical helmets that sat atop their heads with chain mail guards hanging down to protect their vulnerable necks. Their armour consisted of leather surcoats stitched over with hundreds of small metal plates that clattered loudly as they walked, and at their sides hung large curved swords with heavy looking pommels. They seemed far less uniform than the Spartans, with each man's armour being distinct from those around him.

They marched purposefully into the council chambers, at first ignoring the Spartan soldiers flanking them. That was until two of the Spartans stepped out to block their path however. The Spartans each extended a hand in the same manner that they had done with Callisto, motioning firmly for the weapons the Persians carried. The smaller men stopped and one of their number, a particularly swarthy individual, his surcoat slightly longer than the others, and his sword pommel set with a glinting ornamental emerald, threw a glance back over his shoulder toward another man who had just arrived.

The newcomer was the only member of the group who did not have dark hair. Instead it was a finely aged silver and it hung down from under a small flat cap in a thick braided ponytail. He was dressed in flowing silk robes of a deep royal blue and trimmed with gold, and number of thick rings decorated his fingers. Behind him trailed a number of other individuals, less lavishly clothed, but still extravagant. Clearly this was the ambassador and those following him, his retainers.

The ambassador nodded to the armoured Persian guard and, as one, they unbuckled their weapons and handed them over to the Spartans. The ambassador himself smiled and held his arms up, palms open as a soldier approached him to show he had no weapons. The smile appeared friendly, but Callisto noticed it never touched the man's eyes. The retainers mimicked his gesture but made even less attempt to hide their disdain as they glanced haughtily about them.

The group advanced out onto the council floor, the ambassador motioning to the rest to hang back as he continued on until he stood alone at the center of the chamber. Despite his age, he stood straight backed and unshrinking under the steady gazes of the assembled Spartans.

Slowly, Nestus and the other Ephors rose from their seats, the elder Ephor casting sideways glances at Leonidas and Demosthenes as he did so. The two kings looked at one another, then grudgingly rose from their thrones. As they rose, the Persian ambassador swept low in a gracious bow, his robes falling gracefully all about him.

"Greetings mighty Spartans," he said, his voice flowing and rich. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hutâna Huvaxshtra Huyazata, but all may address me as Hutâna. I have been sent to you today, carrying a message from my almighty King, the great God Xerxes, son of Darius."

He straightened, brushing non existent dust from his sleeves as he did so.

"But please," he continued, his smile widening. "There is not a need to stand on ceremony for one such as I. Be seated, if you will, so that we may discuss matters in more comfort."

The Ephors eased themselves back into their seats at that, but Callisto caught Demosthenes and Leonidas glancing at one another again. This time neither of them sat.

"The city of Sparta welcomes you," Nestus said as graciously as he could manage, but even his temper seemed strained. "We are most honoured by your presence within our walls."

"The honour is ours, I can assure you," Hutâna said, his smile widening while his eyes remained cool and calculating. "The strength of Sparta is legendary, and your opposition at Marathon displayed that strength in a most... informative manner."

Next to her, Callisto could practically feel Leonidas bristle at the Persian's slight, but he said nothing. Demosthenes, if anything, looked even more affronted, the muscles in his jaw bunching tightly as Hutâna spoke. Like Leonidas though, he remained silent.

"Marathon was a tragic day," Nestus said, clearly trying hard to remain diplomatic while the two kings fumed silently, "For both our peoples. Sparta would not see such bloodshed wrought again so soon."

"My King Xerxes will be most pleased to hear that," said Hutâna, cocking his head slightly as he spoke. "He wishes the same and would not have Sparta as an enemy."

"And Sparta would not wish him as one," Nestus replied. "As such, he has sent us here, to speak in his name, and to propose an offer of friendship between us..."

A low murmur went up around the room at that. Callisto watched as a large number of the assembled Spartans scowled darkly. Clearly they did not favour such a course of action. The Helots gathered around Ithius looked to be nonplussed, with the exception of Ithius himself, who was wearing a concerned frown. Hutâna gazed up into the stands, that same smug smile still plastered across his face.

"...before escalating circumstances make such an offer impractical," he finished.

Nestus lifted a hand to his beard thoughtfully as one of the younger Ephors spoke.

"What would be the terms of such a friendship?" the man asked.

"Why, only the vow that Sparta and its armies would not stand in opposition to my King Xerxes' conquest of Greece and all its dominions," Hutâna said. "That and for you to surrender your sovereignty to us."

That final addition proved the last straw for the assembled Spartans. The room was suddenly filled with thunder as a hundred voices cried out in pure outrage. The Persian soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but Hutâna did not so much as blink. He simply continued to stand in the center of the room, that same obnoxious smile never leaving his face.

Suddenly, Leonidas span on his heel to face the stands.

"ENOUGH!" He bellowed furiously.

As if Zeus himself had spoken, the room fell immediately silent. The Spartans were hardly mollified though and many still glared darkly at the small Persian delegation. Slowly and dangerously, Leonidas turned back to face Hutâna.

"And what if we were to refuse your..." he paused as if trying to find the words, "...most generous offer."

Hutâna regarded him steadily, his gaze seemingly locked with Leonidas' own.

"Across the ocean that lies to the south of Greece, there is a vast other world," he said slowly. "Within it dwell many wondrous animals the likes of which you have never seen. Among them, a great grey creature with a long nose and enormous ears. They are three times the size of even the largest warhorse, with the strength to match. They travel in herds, and when they charge nothing..." he glanced at the gold clasps holding Leonidas' red cape, "...not even the mightiest lion, can stand before them."

He turned sweeping his arms wide and addressing himself to the rest of the chamber again.

"I implore you all, accept our offer. If you do not stand aside, you will be trodden underfoot!"

Callisto could sense Leonidas' anger building beside her. She could hardly blame him. Hutâna was a smug cretin, and his relentless haughtiness was beginning to grate on her nerves.

She glanced at the Spartan king, her eyes narrowing as she did so. His fists were bunched tightly, and his knuckles had turned a fierce white. She had spent long enough living with anger to know when it was about to drive someone to action, and considering the delicacy of the situation unfolding before them it was likely to be an action he would regret.

She let out a soft sigh. Time to live up to her reputation again it would seem.

"Oh please!" she said loudly, sweeping up from the stone bench as she did so, "Could you just spare us the theatrics! I think we all understand you. Your little metaphor was about as subtle as a sword through the throat after all."

All eyes in the chamber turned on her in an instant. The Persians looked the most affronted, and among them Hutâna most of all; That irritating, puffed-up grin finally having been wiped off his face. Nestus had his head in his hands and Demosthenes' face was lit with an amused grin. Next to her, Leonidas' jaw was hanging open in stunned amazement. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and glared back at him.

"What?" she said belligerently. "He was boring me!"

She turned to regard the rest of the benches and spread her arms wide.

"Was no one else bored?" she asked earnestly.

"Who is this... _woman_?" Hutâna hissed, pointing at her, but his eyes fixed on Nestus and demanding of answers.

"Her name's Callisto," Leonidas said, once again leaping in before Nestus or Callisto herself could reply. "And she is here as an ally of Sparta."

"Callisto," Hutâna said, his eyes narrowing. "_The..._"

"Callisto, yes." Callisto finished for him.

"Warlord, murderer, child killer, vengeance seeking psycho..." she continued, stepping nimbly down onto the council room floor, "...and those are just my good qualities."

She gave the Persian ambassador a broad sadistic grin as she sidled closer to him.

"Want to hear my bad ones?"

Hutâna gave an almost imperceptible swallow, his profound self assurance seemingly rattled for the first time.

"Clearly my opinion of Sparta was ill informed," he said, turning back to Nestus and the other Ephors. "I had thought you an honourable people of moral caliber. And here you are, claiming a... a... creature like this as your ally?"

Callisto pressed a hand to her chest in mock injury.

"Hutâna, deary, you wound me!" she gasped, then glared at him darkly. "Maybe I should return the favour."

"She does not speak for Sparta," Nestus cut in abruptly, with a furious glance in the direction of Callisto and Leonidas. "She is merely our guest, much like yourselves."

Hutâna glanced in Leonidas' direction.

"Your king over there said she was an ally," he said, all pretense at decorum leaving his tone. He was no longer trying to appear mannered or polite. Instead he addressed Nestus as if her were a servant, and Leonidas nothing more than a cheap slave.

Nestus opened his mouth to speak but could not seem to find the words. He sat silently for a moment, a look of rising discomfort on his face.

It was Demosthenes who came to the rescue this time, having remained silent for much of the proceedings up to now.

"My Lords and honoured guests..." he said, stepping down to join Callisto and Hutâna on the council room floor.

"My sincerest apologies for the way this has been handled. Callisto is indeed our ally, but she is freshly arrived in the city mere hours before you. She has had no time to rest or catch her breath since coming here. She is simply tired, as I'm sure you yourselves are."

He shot Callisto a warning look, challenging her to keep silent. She folded her arms and grinned back at him, willing to play along for the time being.

"It's clear that today we will make no more progress in these discussions," he continued. "Allow me to suggest that we retire for the day."

Hutâna placed his hands on his hips and harrumphed.

"Our God King expects us to return to him in the next three days with word of the agreement reached here. We do not have time to wait..."

"How very gracious of him," Callisto muttered sarcastically, more to herself than anyone else, but Demosthenes gave her an irritated glance anyway

"Surely one as magnanimous as your Great King Xerxes..." he continued, and Callisto could not help but notice how he did not refer to the Persian King as a god, "...would not begrudge you taking a little extra time over so important a matter."

Hutâna frowned, clearly weighing the options before him. Callisto had to admit that Demosthenes had snared him quite nicely. If he refused to wait, he would appear petulant and easily offended which would damage his negotiating position. Slowly he nodded.

"I suppose that would be acceptable," he said.

Demosthenes glanced up into the stands briefly, but Callisto was unable to follow his gaze before he looked back to the Persian ambassador. Slowly, he forced as warm a smile as he could managed onto his face.

"I would be most honoured if you would be guests at my palace during your stay in the city," he said. "We were planning a grand feast tonight, and your attendance would make me eternally grateful."

He turned and regarded the rest of the room, his keen gaze sweeping across everyone present, Callisto included, although he looked less than pleased when he looked at her.

"Indeed, all present here now are invited!" he announced. "It will be an excellent opportunity for us to get to know one another, and hopefully ease the tension of future negotiations."

Hutâna somehow managed to plaster that same self satisfied smile across his face again as Demosthenes finished speaking.

"A most excellent suggestion," he said, with a nod. "It will definitely be preferable to continue these deliberations tomorrow, with cooler heads..." he glanced meaningfully at Callisto, "...and fuller stomachs."

Callisto only smiled back broadly.

"Sounds wonderful," she said wickedly. "I do so love a good party."


	7. Chapter Six: Frolics

**Chapter Six: Frolics**

Demosthenes' palace feast hall was alive with the sounds of revelry. Leonidas was sitting in a heavy backed seat at the head table, Demosthenes himself seated at his side in the grandest seat available. The room itself was more decorated in the usual spartan tradition, which meant very little decoration at all. A few antique pieces of armour and weaponry, no doubt belonging to honoured ancestors and such, were scattered along the walls, the final rays of the sinking sun glinting off the steel and metal.

In the place of decoration, the room was filled with people. At least a hundred and possibly even more. A wide selection of Spartans, freedmen, private citizens and the like were seated at every table, most drinking, eating and carousing while Demosthenes' palace Helots moved back and forth, offering up refreshment wherever necessary. The Persians were seated over in one corner of the room, purposefully divorced from the festivities going on around them as they eyed the Spartans disdainfully. The one exception was Hutâna, who was instead watching Callisto with a calculating look in his eyes.

A ragged cheer went up from another corner of the room where a group of younger Spartans, freshly minted in battle under at Marathon, had decided to test each others' strength by organising an impromptu arm wrestling tournament. Two of the larger individuals had engaged in a heated and strained contest. As Leonidas turned to watch them, the larger of the two gave a final vicious surge of strength and his opponent let out a pained grunt as his arm was slammed decisively down with such force that it rattled the ale tankards at the surrounding tables. The cheering crowd gathered around them cried out even louder as the victorious soldier lifted his arms in triumph.

"Quite the celebration you're putting on," He said, leaning closer to Demosthenes as he spoke.

The other King twisted in his chair distractedly.

"What?" he said, clearly not understanding.

"I said," Leonidas began again, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub, "quite the celebration you're having."

Demosthenes only grunted and looked around the room, as if seeing the frivolity for the first time. His brow knotted and his eyes turned downcast as he reached listlessly for his ale. Without a word, he tilted his head back, draining the tankard before waving for another. He belched loudly and turned to face Leonidas more fully, his expression a far cry from the one he had affected in the council chambers earlier.

"They need the distraction," he said grimly. "Persians at the gates, and Helots ready to rebel at any moment. There's precious little else for them to look forward to. War is coming, and I don't know which side we'll be on. I only know that a lot of good men will die."

"You didn't seem to think the situation was so dire in the council," Leonidas said.

Demosthenes glanced up at him.

"You, of all people, should understand the value of appearing strong in front of your men."

Leonidas nodded.

"Of course, but still, I don't think we're defeated quite yet. There are still options available to us."

Demosthenes cocked an eyebrow at him quizzically.

"Oh? Care to tell me how things can get any worse?" he looked around, eyeing the various Helot servants distrustfully then lowered his voice so that Leonidas had to strain to hear him. "We've been taking the Helot's to war with us for decades Leonidas. That's decades for them to watch us, learn from us. In using them as fodder we've trained the only army in Greece that knows how to beat us."

He gave a vexed grunt.

"If only Soriacles hadn't upped and died on us. While he was happy to sit out there working that farm of his, the rest of them were happy to toil in peace and quiet as well."

Leonidas gave an empathetic sigh. The other man was right of course. Soriacles had been a strong voice in the Helot community when he had been a slave. After being freed following Marathon, his voice had faded when he had retired to the country. Those among the Helots had still used his name as a rallying cry though, and there had been some talk of him channeling money back to the city so that more Helots could buy their freedom. His recent death had only added fuel to the fiery relations between the Spartans and their indentured lower class.

"Any word yet on what happened to him?" he asked.

Demosthenes only shook his head in response.

"Apparently he went out with a small party of his guards earlier in the day, but didn't say where he was going or why. His wife found him dead out in the fields a couple of hours later. No sign of the guards though." He sank back in his seat and gave a tired groan. "The word on among the Helots is that we poisoned him, naturally."

Leonidas shrugged.

"I can think of some more obvious possibilities," he said.

Demosthenes rolled his eyes.

"Can't we all," he said. "If you have to pay people to fight with you, how can you expect loyalty?"

He nodded toward the mercenary called Athelis, seated close by but at a separate table. He was sitting with Callisto and Monocles, surveying the surrounding tables with a hawk like stare. It was almost as if he were looking for something... or someone.

"You brought that one here," he said. "Any idea what we can expect from him?"

Leonidas grimaced. Athelis was the one part of all of this he had not expected. In truth he was not sure which way Monocles' bodyguard would lean, but then he was not concerned either. After all, what possible worry could a common mercenary be to them?

"_I _didn't bring him here," he protested, "Monocles hired him. I expect he'll go where the money is though, which makes him nothing to worry about," he said.

"Why did you invite any of them here in the first place?" Demosthenes said, eyeing the small group disdainfully. "None of them truly belong here, especially not now!"

He scrubbed a hand through his greying hair frustratedly.

"I suppose I can see the wisdom of bringing this Callisto," he admitted grudgingly. "There's some value in having a psychopath on side, especially if she can bring troops to bear, but the other two..." he shook his head. "What use is the Athenian?"

"He's a historian, like Herodotus before him,"

"Hah!" Demosthenes snorted derisively. "We're about to be plunged into a war, whether or not we want to be, and you bring an Athenian here to read books and scrabble in the dirt looking for our past! We know what our forefathers did! We tell the stories every day in some form or other. This whole city is a monument to them."

Leonidas sighed. Demosthenes wasn't thinking things through. He was trapped in the old ways of thinking. To him Sparta could survive as it was for a thousand years. There strength and skill at arms would carry them through any challenge, so there was no reason for them to change or adapt to the world around them. It was becoming frustrating. How could he make him see!? After Marathon, such thinking was no longer enough to guarantee their future. Instead all it would succeed in would be dooming them to a footnote in one of Monocles' histories.

"We know what our forefathers did," he nodded in agreement. "But not where they all are..."

He let his words hang in the air for a moment as Demosthenes flashed him a look of sudden understanding.

"You're looking for..."

Leonidas only nodded in response. Demosthenes let out a long low whistle.

"But what will that achieve?" he asked.

"If I can prove the divinity of my lineage, I won't need the Ephors' consent for war. I will have a mandate from Ares himself."

Demosthenes regarded him levelly.

"Quite the play," he said.

"If Monocles succeeds, a decisive one," Leonidas said.

"Not at all decisive. For starters I wouldn't trust the Ephors to recognise such an ancient piece of temple dogma as valid law. Second, Ares has abandoned us, or have you forgotten Marathon? What worthwhile God of War would not revel in that battle, yet his favour did not touch us that day did it." Demosthenes shook his head. "No, faith in Olympus will not bring us through this. The Persians are coming in even greater numbers than they did then, and our own ranks are still not fully recovered. We need numbers Leonidas, not Ares' mandates and history lessons."

"I remember Marathon all too well, and I'm not disagreeing with you!" Leonidas said, pressing his argument. He needed Demosthenes and his men. He needed all the troops he could get! "I've already sent envoys to the Athenians. I'm fairly sure that their response will be positive as well. They remember Marathon as well as we do."

"Athenians!" Demothenes said, not even trying to hide the contempt in his voice. "Hardly trustworthy allies."

He snatched another tankard of ale from a passing Helot and took a long pull on it before slamming it down angrily on the table.

"Where were they when our people were dying to save them eh? Where were they when the Persian arrows were falling like rain? Or when that damnable cavalry was flanking our infantry? Waiting in the wings, that's where! Waiting for us to fight and die so that they wouldn't have to!"

He finished barely shy of a furious shout, drawing a few concerned glances from neighbouring tables. Slowly, he took a deep breath to steady himself and reached for his tankard again, taking a second long pull from it, as if somehow the answer to everything would be found at its bottom.

"Besides," he continued, a little more evenly. "Your forgetting the Helots. If you take our forces out to meet the Persians, even with the Athenians at your side, you'll strip us of the ability to keep them in line. You may save Greece, but there won't be a Sparta to come back to."

"Not if I can take them with me," Leonidas replied with a confident smile.

"You're counting on Ithius?"

"I've known him a long time. He'll listen to me when what I'm saying starts making sense."

Demosthenes gave a dry laugh.

"You're making precious little so far," he said. "And I've got less faith in your pet Helot than you do..."

"He's a freedman Demosthenes," Leonidas cut him off firmly. "He should be spoken of as such."

The other King regarded him steadily for a moment then nodded in apology.

Suddenly a Spartan soldier appeared at Demosthenes' side, a worried expression on his face as he placed a confiding hand on the King's shoulder. He leaned in close, speaking in a low voice in the King's ear.

Leonidas turned away, not wanting to appear to be listening in. Instead he swept his gaze across the room again, and frowned. The Persians had disappeared. That was hardly surprising. They had not looked to be enjoying themselves and after a long journey, had probably retired for the night. What was disconcerting was that they had not announced their departure, nor had he seen them leave.

He continued to scan the room, searching for any trace of them but could find none. Instead his gaze settled on Callisto. She was still seated with Monocles and Athelis, and seemed to be talking with Monocles. More specifically, she seemed to be being talked to _by_ Monocles who, as usual, was gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

He cocked his head studiously as he regarded the blonde warrior woman. Try as he might, he still could not get a good read on her. She had played her part well in the council chamber, but not how he had imagined she would and he still was not even sure if the Oracle's prophecy regarding her could even be trusted. It wouldn't be the first time such a prophecy had not proved true to its word.

When the Oracle had first spoken of Callisto, he had imagined the woman he had heard tell of. She was supposed be all fire and fury, a terrifying warrior to be feared but respected, and a valuable ally if one could keep her in line. The woman he had met on the trail was different though. She just seemed so damaged, and not at all the strong, confident warrior from the stories. There were flashes when he spoke with her, times where he could see the anger blazing behind those big brown eyes, but so much of the time she just seemed... what... empty? Hollow? It was as if she were a guttering fire, sparking and burning occasionally but slowly dying away, until someday, maybe soon, she would be nothing more than drifting smoke and ash.

"Best talk sense to Ithius quickly then," he heard Demosthenes say to him. "We may need his help sooner than you think."

He twisted in his seat to look at the other man. Demosthenes was wearing a grim expression.

"What's happened now?" Leonidas asked.

"My guard have the watch tonight," the other king replied. "Apparently there's been a crowd of Helots gathering outside the inner city gates. Their numbers have been growing steadily since the Persians rode through."

Leonidas frowned. This was a new development.

"What do they want?" he said.

"To be let inside. They're worried that when the Persians come, they'll be caught outside the city's decences and slaughtered."

"A reasonable assumption," Leonidas said.

Demosthenes nodded.

"I know," he said. "Don't you just hate it when they do that?"

* * *

Callisto was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. It had been a long day on the road, and heading straight into the council meeting had not helped matters. Combine all of that with her lack of settled sleep over the past few nights, and the exhaustion was beginning to mount up. Monocles' ceaseless prattle was not really helping matters either. She sat with her hands wrapped around a tankard and sighed. The ale inside the tankard was untouched and had gone warm over the hour or more she had been sitting here.

"You're not drinking that?" Athelis said next to her.

She shook her head. She did not drink, and holding the tankard was more a way to keep her hands occupied, in case she felt the sudden urge to reach across the table and throttle Monocles.

"...and then I got the summons!" he buzzed excitedly in her ear. "Can you imagine my luck! I have studied the Spartans and their history for so long, but its just so difficult! Can you imagine a people like this, with a past so rich and fascinating, and they don't keep written records!? I mean honestly! Nothing! Not a quill placed to parchment! It's all oral record, passed from father to son, mother to daughter, told in drunken revels and campfire stories! All of it is embellished, added to, transformed, over and over, as it passes from ear to ear until nothing of truth remains! That's not history my dear lady! That is fiction! Fiction I say! But finally, someone who understands, someone who appreciates the true worth of what I do, and a Spartan King no less! This will be the opportunity of a lifetime. The chance to record in detail the changing of an age, and to look back into their past with an eye to curate..."

He continued to natter on meaninglessly and Callisto turned to face Athelis with a roll of her eyes.

"How long does it take to get to Athens from here?" she asked curiously.

"About a month on foot. Why? You planning on taking a trip?" The mercenary gave her a slanted grin.

Callisto shook her head.

"I'm just trying to figure out how you managed to keep from killing him in his sleep," she said.

"It was tempting," Athelis replied. "But then, who would have paid me?"

"_I'll_ pay you if you do it tonight," she said, only half joking.

Athelis said nothing; instead he stroked his chin thoughtfully as if giving it serious thought.

"...will be a challenge finding the tomb obviously," she heard Monocles say, "...but then can you imagine the prestige if I did!? The long lost tomb of Lycurgus, the final proof that the Agiad line are true descendants of Ares!"

Callisto's ears perked up at the mention of the war god. Something about that had tickled the back of her brain.

"What did you say?" she said, twisting to face him.

"About what?" Monocles said, looking startled that she had actually spoken. Clearly he had not been expecting her to.

"About descendants of Ares," Callisto said. "You've talked about that before haven't you?"

Monocles nodded.

"We spoke about it earlier I believe. Why?"

"You said Leonidas was a descendant of Ares," she pushed. "What did you mean by that?"

Monocles smiled, obviously happy to be getting the chance to indulge himself further in a subject he was passionate about.

"Spartan tradition has it that the Kingships are held by certain blood lines," he began, "Leonidas' bloodline is the Agiad line. They are the oldest of all the royal bloodlines, dating back to the first King named Lycurgus. Lycurgus was said to have been the product of Ares' union with a mortal woman..."

Callisto shook her head ruefully.

"Just like daddy," she muttered.

"I'm sorry?" Monocles said with a confused frown.

"Nothing," Callisto said. "Continue."

Still looking confused, but not letting that get in his way, Monocles launched back into his explanation.

"Lycurgus was a favoured son of Ares, and when the Spartans conquered these lands and enslaved the Helots, Ares himself granted his son the right to rule, and rule he did. It was Lycurgus who set down the first laws of Sparta, including those regarding the powers granted to the Ephors. Only Lycurgus and his direct heirs could override them, and even then, only on a religious basis. At least that's what I believe the history to be."

Callisto's brow rumpled in a thoughtful frown. If this was true, why was Leonidas so powerless before the Ephors?

"So why all the umming and ahhing in the Council?" She asked. "If Leonidas is an heir of the Agiad line, can't he just declare some kind of war in Ares' name against the Persians?"

Monocles smiled again and shook his head. Callisto sensed another lecture coming on and did her best not to sigh. Instead she folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him, a subliminal signal for the little man to keep his answers short.

"Because the Spartans don't keep written records of their history or their bloodlines," Monocles said, completely missing her warning look and blustering on regardless. "The royal bloodlines have become somewhat tangled over the centuries and Leonidas' Agiad lineage, while strong, is not necessarily traceable back to Lycurgus himself. If he attempts to push that law now, the Ephors will simply deny it citing lack of proof for his mandate."

"Which is where this tomb comes into things I take it?" Athelis said.

Callisto glanced over her shoulder at him. She had not realised he had been listening. Monocles gave an excited nod.

"The location of Lycurgus' tomb was lost long ago. Again, the result of the Spartans not keeping adequate records. It is a solid piece of the chronology though, a starting point where Leonidas himself marks and end. If I can find documentary evidence that fills in the gap between, then Leonidas has his link, and I have my history!"

"But you said there were no documents," Athelis said.

"Not direct records no, but experience has taught me that there is always a trail of parchment to follow if you look hard enough, and show a little imagination when filling in the blanks." Monocles gave them a self satisfied grin

Callisto was about to reply when she felt a sudden tension in the air. Next to her Athelis had suddenly gone rigid, his jaw clenched tightly shut as a familiar figure emerged from the crowd of Spartans to seat himself opposite them.

"Greetings friends," Pelion said, placing his withered hands flat on the table and smiling warmly at them. He turned to look at Callisto. "I must say, it was quite a surprise to see you in the council earlier."

Callisto regarded the old priest steadily.

"Likewise," she said.

She had not really spoken to him a great deal at Penthos. He had existed on the fringes of that community and had generally kept himself out of people's way. Still, she remembered what Silas had told her about him; how he had recruited Perites and Marsus to join him and how they had worshiped at the strange rock formation called the Headstone outside the village. Thinking of the Headstone brought back other memories too; memories of Methades, a treacherous mercenary commander she had cornered there, and of two hundred gold coins spilled across the floor and stained with crimson. She had hoped to feel some kind of satisfaction after what she had done there that night. She supposed she should not really be surprised that it hadn't worked, and instead had just left her thinking about Silas' death and the gnawing emptiness inside her.

"I am sorry," Pelion continued, changing the subject to include the others. "I am being rude. Allow me to present myself. My name is Pelion and I am an acquaintance of the good lady you are dining with this evening."

Callisto snorted.

"Most people wouldn't describe me that way," she said.

Pelion gave her a wry look.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said. "I think perhaps you underestimate others' opinions of you. You did save Penthos after all. It was my home for several years don't forget. I would have hated to see anything unduly bad happen to the place."

"You saved a village?" Athelis said, sounding genuinely surprised for the first time since she had met him.

"It was an off day," she replied.

Pelion smiled.

"A very good off day. But we are getting distracted again." He turned to look between Monocles and Athelis. "I remember you both from the council, but I do not believe we have had the pleasure of being formerly introduced,"

"Athelis," Athelis said simply, his voice surprisingly hard.

As Pelion turned his gaze on the mercenary, Callisto could not help but notice the way the two of them locked stares. Clearly Pelion had lied about not knowing Athelis. The two had obviously met before.

"My name is Monocles," the little historian chipped in with a welcoming smile and extended his hand across the table. "You are of The Followers are you not?"

"I am indeed," Pelion said, dragging his eyes away from Athelis so that he could take Monocles' hand and give it a firm shake. "But how, if you do not mind me asking, did you know that? Our brotherhood is small and not so well known in Athens I believe."

"The symbol of the sickle," Monocles said, nodding toward precisely that symbol, stitched in a dark crimson on Pelion's robe sleeve. "I have seen it before in connection with your order. A loaded symbol I do believe, although I cannot remember precisely with what else it might have seen it associated."

"Ah, but of course," Pelion nodded. "It is a symbol of bountiful harvest, something we pray to our Lord for everyday."

Callisto watched Pelion closely as he spoke. Something in the back of her mind was itching. It was that self same instinct that told her when someone was lying, and she could feel a discomforting feeling bubbling darkly in her gut. Why did she not trust Pelion? She had barely spoken to the man before, and when she had, it had only been when he had tried to get her to escort himself, Perites and Marsus to the Headstone.

Perites.

What had he been doing on the road, and why had he been trying to kill Monocles? Was it even Monocles he was trying to kill? She glanced sideways at Athelis who sat completely still, his stare unwavering and still fixed on Pelion.

"And who is this Lord of yours?" she asked, "I've never heard any priest of Olympus not name their god before."

"That is because he is not an Olympian," Pelion replied simply. "He is so much more than that to us. He is not just some divine observer who we pray and sacrifice to on the off chance they will grant us some petty boon, or favour. He has saved each and every one of us from darkness and despair."

He leaned back on the bench, crossing his arms so that his hands sat inside his sleeves.

"He offers us hope," he continued. "Hope for a better world in this life, and not just the vague chance of an eternity in Elysium or Tartarus. We follow him because he gives our lives purpose, for when a life has no purpose, it loses all meaning."

He turned to regard Monocles, his eyes keen and measuring.

"You are clearly a man with purpose my friend," he said with a nod, and Monocles smiled. "A very clear one too. You seek to make the past whole. To fill in the gaps so that we may all understand it better. A laudable goal too, for if we do not know where we have been, how can we ever know where we are going."

Slowly he turned to look back at Callisto and she felt the sudden urge to shift in her seat under his steadt gaze. With a great deal of effort she managed to stop herself from squirming, and instead, she folded her arms and leaned forward across the table, meeting his gaze with a challenging stare.

"Neat trick," she said. "Now do you want to try it on me?"

Pelion studied her for a short while, his expression gradually becoming more and more pained.

"You're not so easy," he admitted. "But far from impossible. You are in pain, am I right?"

She tilted her head slightly but said nothing, only continuing to stare evenly at him.

"Yes," Pelion nodded to himself. "A great deal of pain... and emptiness. You are a directionless soul, adrift and suffering, with nothing to anchor yourself to. I can see so much tragedy in your eyes, so much pain and hate, but I am forced to wonder how much of it was of your own making?"

Callisto's brows drew closer together in a scowl and she could feel her teeth grinding together as that familiar feeling of anger turned inside her. His words struck a chord deep down in her, in a way that made her throat ache. She sniffed, but Pelion did not even seem to notice. Instead, he leaned forward too, matching her gesture and fierce glare as he rested his elbows on the table in an earnest manner. Utterly unintimidated by her, he continued on.

"You had a purpose once, I think," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "It was all consuming, the only thing that mattered to you, and you did anything to achieve it. Anything. It lead you down a dark path, but you walked it gladly, didn't you? All those bodies you climbed over, all the destruction and heartache you caused, and all for a chance peace, at freedom. But in the end it was all lies wasn't it? Sweet, sweet lies that you told yourself again and again and again. None of it was your fault, not really. You had your reasons. Reasons that no one else could understand. How could they? After all, who else in the world had suffered like you had suffered? Then suddenly, as if by magic, the blinkers were lifted. All the lies and the deceptions, gone in an instant and instead you were left only with the hideous truth. And all that destruction, all the victims, they started to stare back at you. So now here you are, lost in the wilderness, casting blindly about, while you search for a different ending, a new truth, a peace that will finally put an end to all that anger, and all that pain."

He leaned back again, finally finished. He untucked a hand from his robes and reached for a nearby dish to pluck a small from fig from it and pop it into his mouth with a curious half smile

"So," he said, his voice genuinely inquisitive, "How did I do?"

Callisto could not hold back any more. Everything he had said had cut her closer to the bone than she had expected, and now her anger was bubbling dangerously close to fury. Her hand shot out rattlesnake fast, seizing him by the robes and hauling him forward across the table with a clatter of crockery and a loud cry of surprise from Pelion himself.

"You think you understand my pain!?" she sneered, bringing her face close to his. "Every day, _every single day,_ I see my home in flames, I hear my family scream, and all the while I sit there, impotent with rage, knowing that the person who did that to me is still out in the world, and that somewhere along the line her pain lessened, while mine didn't! Do you know what the worst part of it all is though? The worst part is that now I know, no matter what I do, it will never stop! I will never be rid of it! Not even after I DIE!" She ended in a vicious shout that drew surprised looks from other tables.

"But that's where you're wrong," Pelion said, so softly that she was certain no else could hear. "Our Lord can make it all go away! He can take all that pain and hate inside you and give it direction. He can make it so that it will never hurt you again!"

Callisto's sneer faltered for a moment, and in her gut the fire guttered slightly. Was he serious? Did he really know some way to bring it all to an end? It sounded too good to be true. But then so did the God of the Underworld making a deal to forgive her sins and allow her passage to Elysium.

Her upper lip twitched slightly as she felt the fire catch again, burning brighter than ever before. She was tired. Tired of being used, tired of having other people make a mockery of her suffering. She balled her hand into a fist, ready to strike him in that oh-so-smug smile, when suddenly she felt a hundred different pairs of eyes on her. In the past she would not have cared. She would have happily gutted Pelion on the spot as a message to those around her. Things were not that simple anymore though.

With a loud and furious snarl, she shoved him roughly back into his seat before whirling to face the rest of the room. The revelry that had surrounded them had fallen silent. Leonidas and Demosthenes were both sitting at the head table, eyes wide in surprise, as was everyone else in the room. All save Athelis, who still had not taken his eyes off Pelion. Something about the way everyone was staring irritated her. Who did they think they had been dealing with? She was not some jumped up sheep herd posing as a warlord like the ones Xena had regularly trounced and sent running for the hills. Nor was she some pet they could yank this way and that on a choke chain to be unleashed whenever they felt like it.

Without thinking, she dropped her best bow, as if she were a bard taking applause.

"Would anyone be interested in an encore?" she sneered sarcastically as she straightened. Silence was her only reply.

"I guess not," she said, and turned for the door, her boots beating a steady rhythm on the cobbled floor as she stalked out past the rows of seated Spartans, her head held high and imperious.

"I need some air," she muttered to herself.


	8. Chapter Seven: Silver in Shade

**Chapter Seven: Silver in Shade**

As she emerged out into the palace courtyard, Callisto felt a cool breeze playing across her face and tugging at her hair. She tried to calm herself, letting out a long low breath, while flexing and rolling her fingers at her side. It did not work and, before she could stop herself, she was pacing angrily back and forth along the length of the courtyard.

Nearby a battered old wagon sat at the edge of a circle of light cast by one of the brightly flaming torches spread around the edges of the courtyard. A number of men were seated in and around it, drinking steadily. A few of them turned to watch her but Callisto ignored them.

Could Pelion have been telling the truth? Could he really help her find release from the hatred and pain that, even now, was still torturing her? Could he really make the nightmares stop? Could he truly help her find peace? She shook her head angrily. It was nonsense, of course, every last bit of it. All lies and half truths. People with far more power than Pelion had offered her much more and failed to deliver. Ares, Hera, Hope; they had all made deals with her, using and twisting her hatred of Xena to suit their own purposes, only to try and cast her aside the moment she ceased to be of use. Why was she even entertaining the idea that Pelion was any different? He was not, of course. But if that was true, why was she trusting Zeus and Hades to fulfill their bargain with her? For the first time since returning to the world, she felt a sense of deep, dreadful despair settling over her. It was a feeling she had not felt for a long time, not since her family had been...

The thought of her mother, of her father and of her sister was like throwing a cauldron of boiling oil onto a blazing inferno. She threw her head back as her anger reached a crescendo, the fury erupting from her in an unbridled scream of purest impotent rage, bellowed to the heavens above as if she expected Zeus to answer. When she finished, she was breathing hard, her fingers splayed with the tendons of her hand stretched taught beneath her skin, while the cool night breeze continued to tug insistently at her hair.

"Well, I can hardly say I'm surprised," came a fresh voice from over her shoulder. She span to face the speaker and was surprised to see the Persian guards from the council standing behind her.

One of them, presumably their captain based on his longer surcoat and emerald set sword pommel, stepped forward, separating himself from the group but still keeping a safe distance from her. It was he who had spoken.

"After all," he continued, his voice thickly accented but still obviously mocking, "if one hires crazy, one should expect crazy."

Callisto cocked her head slightly and nodded toward the open space between them.

"Care to take two steps forward and say that?" she said, reaching back over her shoulder to finger the hilt of her own sword suggestively.

The Persian captain gave a half amused grunt and nodded to his men, who quickly fanned out around her. Like their captain, they remained a safe distance from her, their hands hovering warily above their sword pommels.

"We did not come here to fight with you, pretty girl," said the captain, and Callisto gritted her teeth at the last part, her anger from earlier finding fresh focus with the Persian's taunting tone.

"You shouldn't have come at all then," she snapped, and in an instant she had her sword drawn, the blade held straight out in front of her, the bare steel glinting wickedly in the torchlight. The Persians responded in kind, their heavy looking scimitars hissing free as the men about her parted their legs in wide opening stances.

"Enough!" came a third voice that Callisto recognised all too well. Her eyes narrowed as Hutâna stepped out of the shadows and into the center of the ring of Persians, both hands raised, palms empty, as he had done in the council chambers earlier.

"My man here speaks the truth," he said, motioning for his men to lower their swords. ""We only came to speak with you,"

Around him, the guards did so, the captain the most grudgingly, and the last to do so. Callisto did not lower her own. Instead she fixed Hutâna with an even stare.

"I'm not so good at talking," she said, "I tend to lose my patience, and when I lose my patience other people start losing limbs."

Hutâna eyed her sword and gave a small, almost imperceptible swallow.

"Very droll," he said. "Would you at least here my proposition?"

Callisto shifted her balance slightly, still not lowering her sword, and gave him an 'I'm listening' look.

"Sparta is a doomed city," Hutâna began, motioning expansively to the world beyond the palace walls as he did so. "The God King Xerxes will have this land, one way or another. Now, you seem like a..." he looked at her strangely, as if he could not believe what he was about to say. "...a logical woman."

Callisto smirked at that but let him continue.

"The God King is most rewarding to those who show loyalty to him. Gold, jewels, a city to rule, your most hated enemy's head on a silver platter; all of it could be yours if you agree to serve him."

Callisto's smirk slowly grew more wicked. She had heard this kind of talk before. People trying to sway her with material rewards, as if she were some common-garden mercenary to be haggled with. She had to admit though, the image of Xena's head mounted on a dinner plate with an apple in its mouth did lend her a certain amount of satisfaction.

"You said anything I want could be mine," she said, giving Hutâna a long lingering smile, "but I'm the kind of person who needs a show of good faith. A down payment if you like."

Hutâna frowned at her suspiciously, but nodded.

"Name your price," he said.

"Your fingers," Callisto laughed. "All ten of them should suffice."

Hutâna's face went scarlet with outrage.

"You... that..." he spluttered, "...How dare you!"

Callisto let out a disappointed and lifted her free hand to bite at her finger nails, her pose one of extreme boredom.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, her eyes flicking across the assembled Persians. "Your soft little leader here thinks he can welsh on a deal. Now he owes me interest too. How about we say his heart? I collect organs you see, and I'm only the heart short of a full set."

She took a step forward and suddenly the soldiers were raising their swords again, this time with looks of growing concern. They had clearly not expected her to be quite so sadistic. Good. If they were afraid of her it gave her the edge. She glanced from soldier to soldier, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

"I thought that sounded like a perfectly reasonable arrangement," she looked to Hutâna, "It appears your men don't agree though."

"As well they might!" Hutâna hissed. "They are my _guards_ after all."

"Even more body parts to add to my collection then," Callisto grinned.

Hutâna looked alarmed.

"Surely you would not risk your alliance with Sparta by attempting to kill us?" Hutâna said, looking about at his men, an edge of desperation creeping behind his eyes. "We are their honoured guests after all."

Callisto only shrugged.

"Honoured maybe," she said, "but I don't think many of them like you that much."

He shifted uncomfortably at that, and Callisto flashed him a dark grin.

"Oh what's the matter my sweet?" she laughed. "Diplomatic immunity suddenly looking decidedly less immune?"

Hutâna's lip curled upward in a disgusted sneer as he finally found his backbone, but Callisto could still make out a bead of sweat on his forehead.

"I was foolish to think you could be reasonable," he hissed. "I came here to offer you a place in Xerxes' army. You could have had all the plunder and riches you wanted when the time came for my King's armies to ride rough shod over the Greek city states. Instead, you will be crushed under foot, the same as all the rest of them and I will personally see to it that your head is paraded in front of the Spartans when they finally kneel before us."

"If you want my head," Callisto sneered back challengingly, "you'll have to come and get it!"

"That can be arranged," Hutâna replied, and nodded to the captain. The man gave a cold smile of acknowledgment and raised his sword again. Callisto braced her feet, drawing her sword in close for a tight guard as she readied herself for an attack.

The Persian captain tensed, clearly about to step in toward her, when another voice rang out clearly from the darkness.

"Drop the swords Persians," it said threateningly, "Callisto is under our protection."

A group of men that Callisto recognised as the men who had been sat around the wagon at the other end of the courtyard were advancing on them. They were a ragtag collection, carrying a variety of weapons ranging from staffs and daggers, right the way up to double handed swords and axes. One man even carried a warhammer with a cut down haft that allowed him to swing it one handed. Suddenly, she realised who they were. These men were the Helots she had seen earlier in the council chamber, and at their head, the man who had spoken was another familiar face. Ithius.

"I don't recall needing to be protected," she shot back at them in irritation.

"Who are you?" Hutâna snapped angrily, ignoring Callisto as he turned his attention to the newcomers. "Stay out of this. It is none of your affair."

Callisto nodded.

"I agree," she said. "I still haven't finished my collection yet."

Hutâna shot her an angry glance, but continued to address Ithius.

"I must say the hospitality of you Spartans leaves much to be desired. You invite us into your city as honoured guests, then set this disgusting excuse for an attack dog on us..." he said, motioning toward Callisto.

"Hey!" Callisto snapped indignantly, but Hutâna just ignored her. This was becoming tiresome.

"...Then you proceed to threaten us when we try to defend ourselves! My Lord Xerxes will not look kindly upon this."

"Two things," said Ithius, as his men drew to a halt a couple of paces from the Persians who had now turned to face them; all save the captain who continued to watch Callisto warily. "First, we are not Spartans. We are Helots and we have offered you no such hospitality. Second, since coming here you have done nothing but threaten and intimidate. The Spartans may be willing to tolerate it, but this is as much our home as theirs, and we will not."

"I should have known," Hutâna said, addressing himself to the rest of his men but speaking loud enough to ensure all present could hear him. "These Spartans are hardly worthy of entry into our great empire. Too uncivilised by half, especially when they allow uncultured slaves like these to fight their battles for them. King Xerxes will be most amused to here how the mighty Spartans cower behind farm hands and palace servants!"

The Persians laughed in agreement, but Ithius' eyes flashed dangerously and he took a further step toward Hutâna.

"I am no slave Persian," he said, his voice flat and unreadable. "None standing before you now are, nor will we ever be slaves again."

Suddenly, her was moving faster than Callisto thought she had ever seen anyone move before. One moment he was two strides from Hutâna, and the next he was a full stride closer, sword drawn and in hand, the length of its blade resting casually across the Persian ambassador's shoulder, its edge mere inches from his throat.

"Take _that_ message to your God King," Ithius hissed. The subtle creak of leather sounded loud and strong in the sudden silence as Persian and Helot alike shifted their balances. Callisto flexed the fingers wrapped around her sword hilt, feeling the adrenaline begin to race inside her and the blood pound behind her ears.

Hutâna glared at Ithius for long moments and began to open his mouth to speak when the doors to the palace banged open and Leonidas and Demosthenes emerged from inside, flanked on both sides by large retinues of Spartan soldiers.

"What in the name of Tartarus is going on here!?" Demosthenes bellowed as they advanced across the courtyard to the assembled group of Persians and Helots.

"We were just trying to teach our Persian friends here about how Sparta welcomes its honoured guests," Ithius replied. "Particularly those who threaten its freedom."

Callisto could hardly help but notice the lack of respect in his voice as he addressed the Spartan king. Demosthenes seemed to pay it no mind. Instead he stepped up to Ithius, regarding the former slave levelly as he reached out and took Ithius' sword blade between thumb and forefinger. Gently, he lifted the sword from Hutâna's shoulder, his gaze never faltering.

"Commendable," he said, and flashed Leonidas a weary look, to which Leonidas only gave an equally weary shrug. Something told Callisto this was not the first time Demosthenes and Ithius had butted heads. "However, as guests of _my _house, their..."

He paused thoughtfully.

"...care," he said finally, "is my responsibility. Do you and your friends understand that?"

Ithius glanced at the Helots around him before looking back to Demosthenes and nodding.

"We understand," he said simply.

"Good," Demosthenes said and turned to face Hutâna. "Please forgive the zealousness of Ithius and his compatriots. They were born slaves, and often lack the social graces those such as you or I take for granted."

Ithius bristled slightly at that, but Callisto caught Leonidas shooting him a warning glare, and the former Helot remained silent.

"I would have their heads," Hutâna said, gesturing toward Callisto and Ithius in turn. "Never have I been so affronted!"

"Give me time," Callisto said. "I'll set a new record."

Demosthenes shot her an angry look.

"I apologise again for their behaviour," he said. "Unfortunately though, they were both invited to the celebrations tonight as honoured guests and as such are under my protection," he paused to fix Hutâna with a steady gaze.

"As are you and your men," he said meaningfully. For the first time Hutâna seemed to realise just severely he and his men were outnumbered. He glanced around uneasily and let out a light cough.

"Yes... well..." he began and coughed again. "I trust that you will do your utmost to ensure that they will be of no further disturbance to myself and my men?"

"Most assuredly," Demosthenes said with a gracious nod. Callisto barely caught the irritated 'you owe me' glance he threw in Leonidas' direction as he did so.

"And now, I think you must be exhausted from all the excitement of today. The festivities are ended for this evening. Do allow my men to escort you to your chambers. I am sure you will want to be well rested for tomorrow's council meeting."

Hutâna nodded.

"Yes, yes quite so. Quite so," he turned to his men. "Come then. It's high time we retired for the evening. We shall leave these..." he glanced disdainfully back over his shoulder at Callisto and Ithius, "...individuals to their revelry. We have more important business to attend to."

He turned and began to stride away, his guards falling in around him with Demosthenes' soldiers flanking them in turn. Demosthenes' shoulders slumped wearily as they strode away and he turned to Callisto.

"What do you think you're playing at!?" he demanded angrily. "First you assault a guest in my great hall, and in full view of everyone else present! Then you come out here and decide to pick a fight with the ambassador to an empire that is, at this very moment, poised to sweep across the face of Greece and kill or enslave us all!"

He took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. It didn't work.

"What do you plan to do next to insult them?" he snapped, "Juggle Xerxes' first born over a fire pit? Or maybe you'll just send him dirty limericks regarding his mother and an unclean relationship with an Olympic discus thrower? Just how hard are you trying to get them to declare war on us?"

"I'm not trying to get them to declare war on anyone," Callisto replied as evenly as she could manage, even though she could still feel the anger surging within her. "Just trying to find out how much spine they have."

She glanced at Leonidas.

"The answer is not much by the way,"

Leonidas frowned thoughtfully.

"Care to explain?" he said.

Callisto re-sheathed her sword and crossed her arms firmly.

"They're like the village bullies I used to have run ins with back home," she said, doing her best to ignore the gnawing ache in her gut that always accompanied thoughts of Cirra. "They like to hunt in packs, try to intimidate you to get what they want. Stand up to them, bloody their noses a bit, and they'll quickly think twice about trying to intimidate you again."

Demosthenes let out a short barking laugh of derision.

"This is not some backwater farmyard spat," he snapped. "This is the Persian empire we are dealing with! How would you suggest we, a single city, bloody their nose?"

Callisto shrugged.

"Hit them," she said, and when Demosthenes rolled his eyes she added, "hard."

Demosthenes shook his head and reached up to to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers in a pained gesture.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, turning away from her to leave, "I think I have endured quite enough nonsense for one night."

He gestured toward the palace gates.

"Get her out of here Leonidas," he said as he began to walk away from them. "I don't want her causing any more trouble here tonight than she already has."

Callisto placed her hands on her hips.

"He's scared of me!" she called after Demosthenes. "He tried to get me to switch sides. What does that tell you?"

"Very little," Demosthenes shot back as he reached the doors to the palace, "especially since I'm not even sure _whose_ side you're actually on!"

With that, he disappeared back inside, the doors closing loudly behind him.

Leonidas turned to her.

"What _did_ happen out here?" he asked.

"Just what I said," Callisto replied. "You called it right. They're nervous about me."

Leonidas expression changed back to one of thoughtfulness.

"I can vouch for that," Ithius said. He was re-sheathing his sword while the rest of his men started back toward the wagon. "You've found yourself a dangerous ally Leonidas."

Callisto turned to look at him steadily.

"Yes he has," she said. "I'm more than capable of looking after myself, and I'm certainly not some frail little damsel in distress in need of some big strapping warrior to come and save me. I'll give you a little tip. Next time you think you see me in trouble and want to help out, don't."

"Grateful as well," Leonidas laughed, but did his best to stifle it when Callisto glared at him.

"Come on," he said, "We had better be heading back to my palace for the night. Hopefully things will be a little quieter there."

It did not take them long to get their horses brought out to them, each saddled and readied to ride. As they waited, Ithius' men loaded up into their wagon, a number of solid looking cart horses being brought out and hitched up while the Helots drank and laughed about the cowardly Persians they had just seen off. Callisto had heard a thousand similar boasts during her time as a warlord and was certainly not surprised to be hearing them again now. Adrenaline could do that to you.

Nearby, Ithius and Leonidas were engaged in conversation. Callisto strained her ears, trying hard to catch the snatches of hushed conversation from the pair.

"...can't explain entirely right now..." Ithius was saying, "...but trouble is brewing. I don't know how long I can keep them under control."

"It won't matter if they fight a revolution to win their freedom Ithius," Leonidas said sternly. "Not if the Persians crush them a month later."

"I know that," Ithius replied. "I might even agree with it, but do you really want to try and take a whole Helot unit into battle? Without me in charge, most of them would as soon turn on you as fight against the Persians, especially after what happened to Soriacles..."

"We had nothing to do with that..." Leonidas interrupted.

"Again, I know that's what you believe," Ithius said. "Again, it might even end up being the truth, but you should know that truth and perception don't always add up to the same result."

He sighed quietly, glancing back over his shoulder at the wagon of drunk Helots.

"Blood cries out for blood Leonidas," he continued softly, "and my people have bled a lot for you in recent years."

"Ithius, please, I have a plan, one that could do a great deal of good for your people. You just need to trust me!"

"I do trust you my King, but I can't take that to the rest of them. You know what they'll say. If you'd just tell me what it is you're..."

"Not here," Leonidas said waving his hand in a conspiratorial manner. "Too many unknowns, too many ears listening. Better that we discuss this in private. How about the old training yard at my palace?"

"It's been years since I've set foot in there," Ithius said, his voice changing to one of wistfulness. "Better times, better days."

Leonidas nodded sadly.

"Indeed they were," he said, letting out a short exhale and straightening slightly.

"It's settled then? We'll meet tomorrow morning in my father's training yard, then I'll..."

Their voices began to fade as they moved away. As they did so, Monocles emerged from the palace alone and carrying the heavy pack slung across his shoulder.

"A most eventful day!" he said, smiling as he crossed the courtyard to Callisto's side. "I heard there was some kind of commotion out here..."

Callisto nodded.

"Just the usual really. Persian ambassador tries to bribe me with riches and power, I threaten him, he says he wants my head on a pike, same old, same old."

Monocles looked somewhat perturbed at that, but less alarmed than he had earlier that morning. He must be getting used to her.

Callisto glanced around the small procession of Spartans as they walked out of the palace, leading her horse behind her with Monocles to her right and Ithius and Leonidas walking some distance ahead, still locked in conversation, while the wagon load of Ithius' Helots rumbled along loudly behind them.

"Where's Athelis?" she said.

Monocles shrugged.

"He left me alone in the banquet hall some time ago. He said something about having personal business to attend to, and I haven't seen him since," he grunted under the weight of his pack. "For hired help, he is remarkably unreliable."

Callisto frowned, as she thought back to the banquet hall and the way Pelion and Athelis had looked at one another. They had known each other. Of that she had no doubt, but what was the nature of their relationship?

As they walked out of the palace and into the streets beyond, the procession drew to an unexpected stop, Ithius and Leonidas both standing stock still. Confused, Callisto went to stand beside them.

"Hey," she said "What's happening? Why did we..." as she drew close, the reason they had stopped became obvious.

The palace was located high on a hill side, and the streets surrounding it were set on a series of tiered slopes that offered a fine view over much of the Inner City and Helot slums beyond. At present, a solid glow, seemingly from hundreds of lit torches, was shining up into the dark night sky from the Helot side of the main gate.

"What's happening down there?" she said softly. "Is it the Persians?"

Leonidas shook his head.

"It's the Helots," he said. "We've been getting reports from the night watch about this all evening, but I didn't realise they were massing in such numbers!"

"My people are getting restless," Ithius said softly. "They think the Persians are coming, and that the Spartans will leave them out there to die."

He gave a low tired exhale.

"If only Soriacles were here. He would've been the voice of reason. He could have kept them calm, talked sense into them."

"Who's Soriacles?" Callisto asked.

"He was the overall commander of Helot unit at Marathon, granted that position by Demosthenes and myself," Leonidas said. "We granted him the honour as he had long been an important figure in the Helot community. He was a slave to the Ephors, but in truth he acted as almost an unofficial sixth member, keeping them appraised of Helot attitudes and general feeling."

"He was our voice," Ithius added, still staring down at the city gates with a worried expression on his face, "though he never really wanted the responsibility. After Marathon, as reward for our service, we were all freed. The commanders, like Soriacles and myself, were all granted land as well. Soriacles took the opportunity to get away from the city, retire from public life."

"And now he's dead?" Callisto said. Based on what she had heard, and the way Ithius was speaking it seemed like a pretty safe assumption to make.

Ithius nodded. He seemed incredibly tired all of a sudden. Tired and worried. Leonidas seemed to sense it too and placed a hand on the former Helot's shoulder in a comradely gesture.

"You will do just fine my friend," he said. "I cannot think of anyone better suited to lead his people."

Callisto rolled her eyes. All this oh-so-manly Spartan 'brothers in arms' stuff was making her want to wretch.

Slowly the procession of soldiers began to move again, and she turned back to stare out over the city as her mind turned things over slowly. Monocles walked up to stand level with her.

"Hardly good news," he said, staring toward the gates and the growing nimbus of torchlight.

Callisto only nodded absently. She could not shake a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something in Sparta simply was not right. Everything just seemed too neatly arrayed against them. How was it that now, after generations of slavery, the Helots, were only just beginning to push hard for their freedom and on the eve of a pending Persian invasion no less? This, even after some two thousand had been freed the previous year as a gesture of good will from the Spartans. This whole business with Soriacles sounded too perfect a coincidence.

She began to walk, her feet beating out a rhythm on the cobbled street in time with the Leonidas' escort. Monocles moved at her side, for once blissfully silent.

What if there was more to all of this than anyone was seeing? What if someone was pushing this whole situation to a head? Who would have something to gain from all of it? The Persians were the obvious choice. It would make sense after all; agitate the Helots, and get the Spartans to think twice about going to war for fear of losing their city to a revolt. The Persian conquest of Greece would be made that much easier with one of the mightiest military forces outside of Rome no longer standing against them. Something about that theory did not sit right with her though. Hutâna and his retinue did not strike her as the types to indulge in such intrigue. They were far too smug and assured of their own victory through sheer force of numbers. No, whoever was behind this was far more cold and calculating than the haughty Persians. But if not them, then who? Thoughts of Perites flashed in her mind. Why _had_ he been out on the road? Why _had_ he been attacking Athelis and Monocles? It was the one loose thread that stuck out clearly in her mind, the one piece of the puzzle that did not seem to fit neatly together with the rest.

Unless...

"Monocles?" she said, her voice low and pondering. The smaller man seemed to be taking in the Spartan architecture all around them. He did not even look at her when she spoke his name.

"Mmmmm?" he said distractedly.

"Earlier you were speaking with someone, the old priest?"

Monocles nodded.

"Pelion," he said. "The man you dragged across the table and threatened? I do remember. We spoke a great deal after you left. A most interesting gentleman. He had a surprising amount of knowledge about history too. Mainly from a theological perspective admittedly, which is of limited interest to me, but nevertheless..."

He was clearly about to head off on a tangent, so Callisto quickly spoke again as he paused for breath.

"What do you know about his temple. He said they didn't worship an Olympian."

Monocles nodded.

"That's hardly surprising. There are many minor cults scattered across Greece; worshippers of outdated, forgotten or foreign deities for the most part. Usually nature spirits and the like. They're often imported from the barbaric tribes far to the north."

"And Pelion's cult? Do you know who they worship?"

Monocles shook his head.

"The Followers are the very definition of a fringe cult. I've never even heard tell of them having true temples. I must admit, I had not expected to see them present in such force here. Apparently their numbers have grown dramatically in recent months. It's all rather surprising now that I think about it to be honest."

Callisto frowned. That was an interesting wrinkle, and it would certainly explain the presence of Pelion and Perites if they were here recruiting.

"Why so surprising?" she said.

"In the past, they've always tended to eke out an existence on the edges of society. Many of the Olympian temples actively shun them, and I heard that some thirty years ago, the temple of Zeus pushed them out of Thessaly entirely."

"Any idea why?" Callisto asked, her brow creasing still further. So they had a history with Zeus did they? The more she was hearing about these Followers, the less she liked. It was all beginning to sound very reminiscent of Dahak and his cult.

"None," Monocles said, surprisingly concise for once. "They are very closed off, and most scholars have never really cared enough to find out more about them. There was a minor treatise by some Corinthian writer... I forget his name... but he had some interesting theories about them. Completely baseless of course and I never really did make a study of it. Again, it was all theology and I..."

"You talked about the sickle they use for a symbol," Callisto interrupted as he began to drift off topic again. "Do you know what it means?"

Monocles shrugged.

"Sickle's are not uncommon symbolism. They often indicate harvest or times of plenty."

"Any particular meanings that might apply to the Followers? Any deities that it might symbolise?"

"None that immediately leap to mind, but I'm sure there are some," Monocles said, his tone slowly becoming intrigued. "The more I think about it, the more I find my interest in this matter piqued. If you do not mind my asking, why the sudden interest in this?"

"Just a feeling I have," she said, rubbing the pads of her thumb and middle finger together thoughtfully as she walked.

Pelion and his Followers certainly fit into the picture she was painting in her mind. Monocles was here to help Leonidas, and they had tried to stop him. Maybe even kill him? Could they be involved in Soriacles' death as well? She sighed. It was all guesswork unfortunately, but it certainly seemed to paint a more compelling picture to her than the idea of the Persians being behind it, and it accounted for the all the information she had too. She needed more though. She needed to know who they were, who Pelion was, what he wanted and, most importantly, if there had been any truth to what he had said to her in the banquet hall.

She turned to regard Monocles steadily.

"Do you think you could try and find out for me?" she asked.

Monocles smiled and nodded.

"My dear," he said, "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Hutâna was reclining on a large but uncomfortable couch in the anteroom of his guest quarters, a sizable goblet of mulled red wine nestled in between his fingers. He had been sipping at it slowly for the last thirty minutes or so, while his retainers did their best to make his bedchamber more to his liking.

He glanced around the anteroom glumly. These Spartans truly had no understanding of aesthetics. The room was built of plain and dull stone, the only true sign of extravagance being the cool marble floor, decorated with a large charging bull, the symbol of Demosthenes' royal line. There were no drapes, no statuary, none of the running water features he had expected from a culture as supposedly civilised as Greece, and, most importantly, no cushions!

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch and took another sip of his wine. The taste was bitter but not entirely unpleasant. He glanced up at the captain of his guard. The man was leaning casually against a wall, close to the doors that lead out of the guest quarters and into the palace proper.

"Quite the epicures, these Spartans," he said. The captain cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Who would have thought it," he said sarcastically.

"You doubt my appraisal of them?" Hutâna said, scowling.

"These Spartans," the captain said with a nonchalant shrug, "I find I am unimpressed."

"They fought us to a standstill at Marathon," Hutâna said.

The captain shook his head.

"That was Xena," he said. "We had the Spartans defeated. If she had not stopped our scouts, we would've rolled up their flanks and crushed them."

"Pah!" Hutana snorted with a dismissive wave of his free hand. "One woman does not stop an army! You're just smarting from that Callisto woman's defiance."

"My men would have dealt with her had you given us the opportunity," the captain said, his voice low, but the insinuation clear.

Hutâna's scowl darkened. Without a word, he clambered from the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of the captain, the only sound the angry swish, swish of his robes as he walked.

"Try it," he said, thrusting the goblet of wine at the man.

"Never while I'm on duty," the captain said, straightening as he did so.

"Try it," Hutâna said again, his voice firmer this time. "That's an order."

The captain sighed and took the wine from him, lifting it to his lips he took a tentative taste, swirling the wine around the inside of his mouth.

"The Roman vineyards produce finer," he said decisively.

"Oh please!" Hutâna said, his tone exasperated. "More! Drink all of it."

The captain gave another eyed him uncomfortably and tilted his head back, downing the rest of the goblet in a single swig. Without a word he handed the goblet back to Hutâna.

"There now," Hutâna said with a satisfied nod. "In the future, Do not try to pretend you are anything more than a common soldier captain. The judgments are mine to make, the orders mine to give, and yours to follow. Do not challenge me again. Do I make myself clear?"

The captain snapped to attention, his posture rigid but his eyes blazing with indignance.

"Perfectly," he said, then ducked his head in a less than respectful bow, "my lord." The last was almost a sneer.

Behind them the doors to the bedchambers opened and Hutâna's retainers came bustling out.

"Your chambers are ready, my lord," said the lead retainer.

"Excellent," Hutâna said, not taking his eyes from the captain. He motioned toward the door with the hand that held the empty goblet. "Now leave me, it has been a long day and I find myself in need of rest."

The retainers each bowed respectfully as one, then hurried past. As they went the captain watched them then turned and headed for the door himself.

"I will make my rounds," he said, "ensure that the perimeter we setup around your chambers is secure."

"You do that," Hutâna sneered as the captain walked out, leaving him alone in the bed chambers.

He gave a deep, exhausted yawn and crossed to the decanter of wine located on a small table next to the couch. Refilling his goblet, he turned and headed for the bed chamber. As he stepped through he gave a deep sigh of relief. The bed at least looked comfortable. The sheets were purest white linen and his retainers had set a small oil lamp in a wall bracket to the side of the bed. It cast a soft, warm glow across the sheets and the equally white and thin drapes that had been mounted across the windows to provide some degree of privacy. Right now, one of the windows was open and the drapes billowed in the late night breeze. He gave a vexed grunt. He had not instructed the retainers to leave the windows open.

He crossed the room, stepping quickly around the bed and holding aside one of the billowing drapes to peer out into the night. Outside sleep was beginning to settle across the Inner City. The occasional call of the city's night watch the only sound as the rest of the citizenry settled down for the night. In the distance, just beyond the gate, he could see the bright glow of hundreds of lit torches filling the night air. One of his retainers had informed him that the Helots had begun gathering in large numbers and demanding passage into the Inner City. That was good. The more unsettled the situation within the city, the more likely it would be that the Spartans would accept the terms of surrender they were offering.

He took a sip of wine, licking his lips contentedly as he ducked back inside and closed the window behind him. As he turned, the billowing drapes began to settle, and a sudden chill ran up his spine.

He was not alone.

A figure stood in the corner of the bed chamber, clad all in black robes that contrasted sharply with the white linen sheets and drapes all about him. He wore a dark hood that obscured his features and shadows pooled at his feet, seeming to twist and turn unnaturally, as if the light from the lamp did not even touch them. In his hand he carried a long staff, topped with a silver sickle that shone brightly, even in the dim corner in which he stood.

"Who are you!? What are you doing in my rooms?" Hutâna demanded, trying to lend his voice a commanding tone that he suddenly did not feel.

The figure said nothing. Instead he stepped forward, the shadows moving with him, creeping over the drapes like hundred legged spiders. His movements were smooth and flowing, like water over stone, but utterly without sound.

Hutâna felt his knees turning to water, and he backed away, trapped between the bed and the window. Suddenly the door out into the anteroom seemed as far away as the sliver of moon in the night sky outside.

"I'm warning you!" he said, still trying to lend his voice a sense of strength. "My men are outside! I need only call on them, and they will be here in less time than it takes you to utter a single word! You cannot hope to stand against them!"

Again the figure said nothing. He was past the foot of the bed now, advancing inexorably forward, completely undeterred by Hutâna's threats.

Hutâna felt his back press up against the wall of the chamber. He had nowhere else to go. His mouth feel open to call for his guards, but fear gripped his heart as if it were a fist made of ice, and the words froze in his throat, cracking like glass and emerging as little more than a broken whimper.

The shadows were clawing at the edges of his robe, and as they crawled up him, he felt a dark cold settle over him. The intruder was upon him now, a supple palid hand with the strength of hard iron reaching out, long fingers rapping tightly around his throat, holding him fast against the wall. Slowly and with dreadful inevitability, the intruder hefted the silver bladed staff.

"Please!" Hutana managed to whisper. "I'm begging you!"

They were the last words he ever said.

The silver bladed sickle flashed briefly in the lamp light, and the goblet of wine clattered noisily to the ground, the linen bed sheets staining crimson.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: MUSIC TO WRITE BY - Part 2

Another chapter, another author's note. I hope everyone is enjoying the story. Finally after seven chapters of exposition and setup, things are starting to move forward. I did not expect the build up to be quite so lengthy, but I think it should be worth it. As I write, I listen to a lot of instrumental music to try and find the right mood, and I have taken to listening to certain tracks as themes for certain characters. I've listed some of these below so that if people want to they can listen and get an idea of what each character should feel like. The titles of the tracks do not necessarily relate to the characters. Its more the mood of the music I'm going for. Callisto actually has two tracks I listen too depending on the mood I am trying for when I write her.

_character - artist - track title_

Callisto - Two Steps from Hell - Starfall (more heroic mood)

- Brand X Music - Weaponize (for the more cruel old style Callisto mood)

Athelis - Two Steps from Hell - False King (Choir arrangement)

Ithius - Two Steps from Hell - Black Blade (Underscore, no choir)

Mortius - Brand X Music - Purgatory

Pelion - Two Steps from Hell - Moving Mountains (Choir arrangement)

These are the tracks that most suggest these characters to me. For the story itself, the track that I feel works well as a theme is Brand X Music's Legion track.

Anyway, hope you all have fun reading this latest installment. Stuff should start happening now!


	9. Chapter Eight: Hidden Whispers

**Chapter Eight: Hidden Whispers**

The statues lining the walls were all broken and dismembered. Pelion had seen to that when he and his many Brothers and Sisters had driven out the followers of Artemis that had once called this temple home.

The old priest walked quietly between the ruined statuary now, moving easily and assuredly, despite his age and the slight ache in his hip. At his side he carried a walking staff but it was more for affectation than actual necessity most of the time. The power of his faith lent him more and more strength these days and he awoke most mornings feeling fresh and invigorated in a way he had not felt in quite some time.

The staff clacked softly against the stone as he walked, sounding out a steady rhythm in the otherwise quiet chamber. At the edge of hearing he could make out soft groans and occasional weeping coming from some of the neighbouring rooms, the sound of fresh members attempting to pass the new initiation test. He paid them little mind. The suffering was a necessary part of their faith. All must face their fears, their hatreds, their passions and overcome them if they were to put them in service to their Lord. These latest Brothers and Sisters would pass the test or be found wanting. Either way their fate would be decided.

Around him a number of other, more experienced Followers knelt in supplication as he passed. He waved them back to their feet, appearing outwardly humble but at the same time reveling in the new found reverence they had for him. His position as the Faith of their Lord had granted him a higher degree of authority, a taste of power the likes of which he had never possessed before, and he liked it.

Finally he arrived at the altar at the end of the room, ascending a small flight of steps to reach it. Behind it stood what had once been a huge solid gold effigy of Artemis. Like all the other statues in the chamber, it had been savagely defaced. A large sickle had been daubed in crimson paint across its breast, and the head and arms had been struck roughly from it with hammers. Now they lay upon the altar itself, a pretender god's life symbolically offered up to their great Lord.

Pelion smiled slightly as he dropped to his own knees before the altar. Once, the Goddess of the Hunt would have stood proud and tall, lording over any and all who would set foot in the temple's main altar room. Now though, she was a hobbled and crippled thing, her glory lying shattered and in pieces, much like the temple itself. Soon, all the other gods temples would follow, beginning in this city with Ares, the God of War himself. Pelion smiled at that. He would personally see to it that their faith was spread to every corner of Greece, casting down the Olympians and their petty tyranny wherever they went.

Slowly, gently he pressed his hands flat on the altar and bowed his head toward the ground beneath him.

"Do you hear my Lord?" he whispered softly to himself. "Do you hear my thoughts? So much has been done, and so much more we have yet to do. But do it we shall, in your name and for the glory of your eventual Return. I ask only that you speak to me, that you guide me. Tell me your will, and I will see it done!"

Silence was his only answer.

Pelion gritted his teeth in frustration. He was the Faith of their Lord! Why was he not spoken to as Mortius was? Why was he left to scrabble in the dark, trying vainly to guess their Lord's wishes while another was favoured over him?

He let out a long, even exhale. He should not worry so much. All these years he had kept his faith in their Lord. All these years he had carried out his will. He had never once before doubted that he had been correct in what he was doing, and his newly bestowed title was vindication that his actions had been right all along. He did not need to hear his Lord's voice for further proof of his faith. It was not important that his Lord had chosen to speak to another...

...But it was important. No matter how much he told himself it was not, he could not escape the envy inside him. He must put it to better use though, a use that would serve their ultimate goals, and not undermine them.

A quiet murmur went up through the altar room and Pelion lifted his head to glance back over his shoulder, already certain of what he would see. Sure enough, Mortius had entered. Pelion did his best to keep his face still and not to sneer at the hooded man's arrival.

As always, Mortius moved silently and with a serpent like grace. His long sickle bladed staff was clutched tightly in his hand, and the shadows that always seemed to cluster about him now trailed in his wake. A number of the Followers shifted uncomfortably. Pelion could hardly blame them. Mortius was a far cry from what many expected when they thought of what the embodiment of their Lord's Soul should look like. True, it was just a title, but he remained a darkly terrible and intimidating presence at the heart of their faith.

As he reached the foot of the steps that led up to the altar, Mortius turned to regard the room, his hood turning first left, then right as he surveyed the assembled Followers.

"Leave us," he said finally. His voice was low and dry, hollow and emotionless. Pelion watched in silence as the Brothers and Sisters bowed respectfully, then turned to file out of the room. Only after they had all left did Mortius turn and ascend the stairs, kneeling beside Pelion and pressing his pale hands, palms down, across the altar in a mirror of Pelion's own pose. He lowered his head and cocked it to the side in that manner he had that suggested he was listening to some far away voice. As if in emulation, Pelion did the same, staring at the floor tiles beneath and willing desperately to hear the same voice that Mortius did. Again, nothing.

"I presume all went well?" he said softly, not looking up.

"Well enough," Mortius replied. "The Persian ambassador is dead."

"And so we are one step closer to war?"

"Not the war they expect," Mortius said, "But yes, our chosen Strength will see to it that we have the war we desire."

"_Your_ chosen Strength," Pelion replied. "I have yet to be impressed by him."

"And who would you have in his place?" Mortius asked, his voice sounding almost disdainful.

Pelion turned his head to regard the robed figure kneeling next to him and was surprised when he caught Mortius staring back at him, dark eyes shining keenly, even within the blackness that obscured the rest of his features.

"The woman is perfect," he said. "She has such passion, such fire. She would be a powerful servant to his will."

Mortius continued to stare at him in silence for a while, his head cocked slightly. Suddenly, without warning, he got to his feet and began to descend the steps.

"She is dead inside," he said flatly, "a directionless husk with no purpose or true desires. Her misery killed her long ago. She is of no use to us."

"You're mistaken!" Pelion protested, clambering to his feet and turning so that he could follow Mortius. "Yes, she is without direction, but she is not without desire! She wants revenge, as our Lord does! We could promise her that revenge, the same way we have promised it to so many others!"

Mortius stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at Pelion.

"You step beyond your bounds, Pelion," he said, his voice now low and dangerous.

Pelion felt an icy stab of fear in the pit of his stomach, but stood his ground, straightening his hunched shoulders and standing as tall as he could manage.

"Am I not the Faith?" he said firmly. "Did you not tell me that the triumvirate of power ruled with equal authority?"

"But not equal responsibility," Mortius replied smoothly as if he had expected this. "_I_ am the Soul, Pelion. As such the duty of interpreting and carrying out his wishes falls to me. You are the Faith. You manage the Followers and ensure their purest devotion to him and him alone. The Strength is our strong right arm, a weapon to be sent out into the world against his enemies, a hammer to crush all opposition. It is a role requiring the utmost commitment, devotion and discipline."

He took a step back toward Pelion, one foot resting on the bottom step of the altar. Around him the shadows surged and boiled angrily.

"This Callisto woman has none of those. She is a selfish, bitter, and twisted thing, full of self deception and with no strength left to make us of. I see nothing of value in her worthy of our attention, and neither does our Lord." He turned away again, making toward one of the side corridors that led deeper into the temple.

"Remember your role Pelion," he said, his tone one of finality, "and do not presume to tell me mine."

With that, he was gone and Pelion was left alone in the altar room. For a moment he could feel an anger like he had not felt in a long time churning inside him. How dare Mortius speak to him that way! He had served their Lord long and faithfully! He had sacrificed so much in his life to their cause; more than any other in fact! He should not be treated in such a way, his opinions dismissed so simply and out of hand!

He span back to the altar and fell to his knees again, pressing his hands flat against the cold stone in the same gesture he had before. Attempting to calm himself, he took a long low breath and held it until it had soaked up all his anger and frustration, and then, in a single long exhalation, he blew it all away so that all that remained was calm and stillness.

He lowered his head to the ground again, squeezing his eyes closed and straining desperately as he reached out with his thoughts.

"I know you can hear me my Lord," he whispered softly. "The dead always can. I am begging you, please, if you value my faith as you value Mortius', speak to me, so that I may do your bidding!"

For long minutes he knelt in silence, desperately praying for his faith to be rewarded. Silence was his only answer.

With an exasperated sigh, he began to clamber back up, suddenly weary and his arms bracing against the altar. He was half way to his feet when he heard it. It was so soft as to be almost unintelligble, a whisper fainter than the lightest breath of wind, just at the edge of hearing.

_"P...!"_

He froze, mid rise, his ears straining desperately.

_"P...l...!"_

Still unable to catch the sound he cocked his head slightly as if the gesture would make the distant whispers that much more audible. Strangely enough, it did.

"_Pelion!"_ the voice said, still soft and difficult to discern, but this time definitely audible.

"My Lord!?" Pelion gasped, his voice breathy and awestruck. "Is that truly you?"

"_Yeeeeesssss" _the voice whispered back, as if echoing from a great distance away.

Slowly, a darkly satisfied smile began to spread across Pelion's face.

"Great Lord Cronus..." he said softly, "...tell me how I may serve you."

* * *

Outside, the mournful howl of stray dog sounded for the fifth time in as many minutes, causing Callisto to role onto her side with a complaining groan. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the soft warmth of daylight playing across her face, and the distant hubbub of a daytime city echoing faintly in the background. Slowly, almost painfully, she cracked one eye open to be greeted by the sight of her room's clean white window drapes billowing in a warm morning breeze.

With a tired grunt, she rolled onto her front, pushing herself up to a kneeling on her bed's mattress and glanced around blearily. The room was as she remembered it from the night before, plain and quite uninteresting. With its dull stone walls and the complete lack of ostentation one would normally find in such a palace, it certainly lived up to the Spartan reputation of sparsity first and foremost.

Her mouth cracked open in a wide yawn and she stretched, cat like, feeling her knuckles give a series of satisfying pops as she flexed her fingers. Outside the dog howled again, for the sixth time now, and Callisto gave a frustrated growl. For the first time in days, she had managed to get a good night's sleep, dreamless and undisturbed, only to be awoken by the infernal moaning of this mutt. Hopping quickly down from the bed, she stalked angrily over to the window and leaned out.

The outer wall of Leonidas' palace was close by and just beneath her window, between the palace wall and the palace itself, a scruffy looking mongrel was seated on its haunches and howling balefully at nothing in particular. Somewhere nearby, another dog gave an answering cry of its own, causing the dog below to howl even louder.

"Hey!" Callisto yelled down at the wretched animal. Clearly startled, it looked up at the window, its upper lip peeling back in a rictus snarl to reveal sharp, yellowed incisors. Without really thinking about it, Callisto answered the dog's snarl with a vicious hiss of her own. The dog's tail immediately fell between its legs and it dashed off with a pained whimper.

Callisto gave a satisfied nod, ducked back inside, and sniffed slightly as the scent of herbal oils filled her nose. She turned and realised a servant must have been into the room while she was sleeping. A wash basin filled with hot scented water had been placed on the bed's plain wooden end table, and a tray of thick soup and fresh baked crusted bread had been left by the door. Callisto's stomach rumbled at the sight of it. She had not eaten much at the previous night's banquet and she was beginning to feel it.

With the dog's howling ceased, she could just make out the sing song clash of weapons, faint but clearly audible, somewhere in the distance. Barely pausing, she splashed some water from the wash bowl across her face, running her free hand through her wild tangle of blonde hair as she did so, in a vain attempt to smooth it down a little. She then turned and grabbed her sword from where she had left it hanging from the end of the bed post the night before, fastening it across her back in its usual position as she made for the bedroom door, ignoring the soup but snatching up the bread as she passed.

Outside, the room was at the end of a long corridor, as plain an unadorned as everything else in here. At the end, it opened up onto a second floor walkway, edged by a low stone wall, and overlooking a large square courtyard with a sand covered floor. As she stepped out onto the walkway, blinking against the sudden bright sunlight from above, Callisto tore a chunk from the bread and popped it into her mouth. The sound of steel on steel was louder now, obviously nearby. Chewing slowly, she stepped up to the edge of the balcony and rested her arms on the low stone wall. The sun was higher in the sky than she had expected. It would appear she had slept a good portion of the morning away. Still chewing thoughtfully, she looked down to see the source of the sounds of battle. A number of Spartans were clustered in the courtyard, Leonidas and the one known as Sentos who had been at the gates the previous day among them.

A number of the Spartans were engaged in a series of practice drills with spears, shields and swords. Callisto watched them with interest. She was hardly surprised that they were not using wooden training weapons but instead, full steel and bronze, all sharpened to a lethal edge. She smiled to herself. The Spartans never seemed to do things by halves and the best motivator for improvement was the risk of real injury should you fail. That she knew from experience.

Suddenly one of their number shouted out an instruction, and they quickly shifted positions to stand in perfect formation, before beginning a fresh drill. They moved with a calm and practiced efficiency, the kind born of a life time of rigorous control and discipline; shield parry, followed by shield strike, followed by a finishing spear thrust. It looked so simple, their movements so coordinated and in sync that, to the inexperienced eye, the formation looked all but impenetrable. It would only stand as long as all its members did though. Should any of the front rank fall, another would have to step in to take their place. It would be an opening through which a wedge could be driven that would shatter the formation in turn.

With the weakness of their formation tactics exposed, Callisto quickly lost interest, instead turning her attention to the rest of the group gathered below. Leonidas was sparring hard against Sentos, the two men sweating profusely in full battle armour and helmets in the day's rising heat. Ithius was present as well, living up to his promise from the night before. He was seated at a table that was so incongruously placed in the sandy courtyard that it was clear Leonidas had had it brought out for just this occasion. He was studying something laid out before him, a frown etched across his face.

"Morning!" Callisto started slightly as a voice called up to her. She glanced away from the center of the courtyard to one of the shaded benches around its edge. It did not take her long to spot Monocles, waving cheerily up at her. He was seated all alone, wearing that same single glass eyepiece Callisto had seen him wear the day before, and was surrounded by fragmentary pieces of parchment, old scrolls and even one or two leather hide bound books. Strangely, Athelis was nowhere to be seen. In his hands, Monocles clutched a feathered quill and a few loose sheafs of parchment upon which he was busily scribbling notes with the same verve and enthusiasm Callisto imagined Gabrielle applied to scribbling down her little stories.

She snorted at the thought of that, doing her best to keep her thoughts from moving from Gabrielle to Xena, but it was all but impossible not to. In a way she was surprised. Her thoughts had not dwelled on Xena or her little bardic friend much recently, and, if she was brutally honest with herself, it had something of a welcome release.

Before she that thought had even left her mind, she felt a sudden stab of guilt. Why did it feel so freeing not to think about them? Nothing had changed at all. Her parents were still as dead as dead could be, and Xena still deserved to suffer for it. Of that she remained achingly certain. It was just that, ever since she had helped Hope kill Xena's little rugrat son, she had had trouble making herself care so much about Xena's punishment. Or anything really for that matter. Penthos had been the one exception, but since then, very little stirred her heart, and her thoughts wandered more and further these days than they had ever done before. The pain remained though, along with the guilty feeling that somehow, she was not doing enough for her family.

In the back of her mind she felt something stir; something dark and hate-filled. Then came the laughter; the same mocking laughter that seemed to sound inside her thoughts more and more these days. It echoed softly now, just outside of hearing, sending chill down her spine with its aching familiarity. She shook her head, as if somehow that would dispel the dark thoughts she was having, and took a deep breath.

"Why don't you come down and join me?" Monocles continued, gesturing to an empty space on the bench. "I've discovered some things which I think may be of interest to you. Also Seeing Spartan military tactics this close up is most informative!"

"I suppose I have a window in my schedule," Callisto replied, doing her best to hide her sudden unease at the taunting laughter in the back of her mind, and the irritation it conjured in her.

She headed quickly downstairs, and moments later she was stepping out onto the sandy courtyard, moving with her practiced, unhurried gait as the eyes of the Spartan soldiers turned on her. One or two shifted uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with having someone of her reputation so close to their King. She ignored them for the most part, pausing only briefly to throw Ithius a wink as she passed him. The former Helot glanced up at her, frowning, then returned his attention to what Callisto could now see was a large map spread out in front of him.

"So, where's the help?" she said, thinking of Athelis as she slid onto the bench beside Monocles. The smaller man had gone back to poring over his notes. He appeared to be reading through some kind of ledger, not that Callisto could discern much from it. Without seeming to notice her, he reached out to dip his quill in a small pot of ink that sat beside him on the bench.

"Mmmm?" he said distractedly.

Callisto rolled her eyes and batted the bottle of ink across the courtyard with the flat of her hand so that it spilled on the sand and the nib of Monocles' quill struck the surface of the bench, snapping quietly as it did so. The smaller man glanced down at it, then at her, a hurt expression on his face.

"What did you do that for?" he said, sounding genuinely upset.

"Amusement," Callisto replied with a smile of mock apology. "Now, where's Athelis?"

Monocles shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I haven't seen him since he left last night. His things were brought up to our guest chambers though, so I assume he is coming back and has not reneged on our deal."

Callisto frowned at that. It was strange that he seemed to have disappeared so completely, but then he had said he had personal business to attend to. There was still the nagging question of his relationship with Pelion though. Unable to think of any relevance his disappearing might have had, she put it to the back of her mind.

"You said you had something for me?" She asked, changing the subject.

Monocles' face suddenly brightened as he remembered and nodded eagerly.

"Oh yes," he said, tucking his broken quill away. "You see, last night after we parted I took the opportunity to head for the city archives. They have quite the library there, much as they do not care to admit it..."

"One that's open all night apparently," Callisto said mockingly.

"Come to think of it, the gentleman who answered the door did seem a little put out by my presence, but I assumed that was just because I had to pound quite hard on it to get his attention..."

Callisto sighed. The man really did not seem to live in the same reality as those around him.

"...still, the documents they keep there are quite incredible. There are even tomes in there so old that they even date all the way back to before the foundation of the city..."

"I thought you said Spartans didn't keep written records?" Callisto interrupted, with a confused look on her face.

"Not of their own, no," Monocles said. "But they do have records and knowledge they have collected from the other cities and peoples they've encountered over the centuries."

He began rifling through the many scraps and scrolls scattered about him.

"What you said last night intrigued me. The symbology of the sickle and what not. I felt I should know it after all, and so I did a little digging. There are a number of very rare treatises here that even the great libraries of Athens and Alexandria would love to possess. Even Herodotus would crack a smile upon seeing them I'm sure, very dour that man, but then I suppose after so many years spent..."

"Monocles!" Callisto snapped.

"Yes?" he said, blinking in surprise at her sudden sharpness.

"Yesterday was a long hard day, and so far today isn't shaping up to be much better. Don't make it even worse by forcing me to hurt you," she flexed the fingers of her sword hand for emphasis. "Now tell me, concisely mind, what... did... you... find?" She spoke the last words slowly and deliberately, never taking her eyes off the rotund little man next to her. He swallowed nervously and nodded.

"But of course, dreadfully sorry. Dreadfully sorry indeed." He began fussing with the sheets again, his hands shaking a little as he tried to locate what it was he was looking for. Suddenly his face split in a broad grin.

"Ah ha!" he announced triumphantly. "Here it is!"

He turned and handed her a bunch of scrawled notes that included dates and sketches of a variety of sickle symbols.

"Just some things I scribbled down, since I'm not allowed to remove any texts from the archives," Monocles said. "Like I told you last night, the sickle symbol is a relatively common one. As you can see, its uses are far ranging and widespread."

Callisto nodded absently, not actually able to make head nor tail of the scribbled notes and drawings.

"The barbarian peoples of Britannia for instance..." Monocles prattled on beside her "...practice a form of nature worship in which their religious caste, called Druids I believe, wield golden sickles as implements of their faith."

"You think Pelion and the Followers are Druids?" Callisto said, tilting an eyebrow at him.

"Goodness gracious, no!" Monocles said. "They don't hug trees or perform human sacrifice for one thing. Most uncivilised people, the Druids. No, no, look further down the sheet. There, toward the bottom."

He motioned to a small sketch of a sickle with a bloodied blade.

"_That_ is the symbol the Followers use, and it is one that has a very clear association. One that I'm kicking myself for not recognising sooner I might add."

Callisto frowned. The blood did seem familiar to her. She wracked her brains, thinking hard and slowly, she began to recall a story she had been told when she was very little. It had been about a time before Athens, or Sparta, or even Greece and the Olympians themselves had ever existed; the time when great Father Sky, Uranus himself, had ruled the world in tandem with Gaia, and how, of all their many children, only one had stood up to Uranus' tyranny. He had been given a great sickle by Gaia herself and had used it to castrate his own father, casting him down and taking his place in doing so. He had become known to the world then as...

"Cronus," Callisto breathed to herself. "They worship Cronus."

Next to her Monocles nodded excitedly.

"Yes!" he said. "Yes precisely. Can you imagine my surprise? Cults to Cronus are unheard of! The temples of the Olympians stamp them out whenever they arise, and Zeus' worshippers are among the most zealous, for obvious reasons. Besides, Cronus is dead. Zeus, Hades and Poseidon destroyed him and cast him into Tartarus, and there's little worth in worshiping a dead god."

Callisto was about to snap off a retort that it had not stopped the cult of Dahak, when a sudden realisation made her breath catch in her chest. Tartarus! Suddenly it all fell into place. She remembered her most recent visit to the Underworld with crystal clarity. How could she forget the dark shadows that had moved unnaturally in the furthest corners, or the fearful manner of both Charon and Hades. They and Zeus had told her that her killing of Strife, and later her own death at the hands of Xena, had thinned the barrier between the realms of the living and the dead. Could that mean...

"My dear," Monocles said, interrupting her thoughts. "You've gone most pale. What concerns you so? Surely not the Followers? They're a hedge cult, worshiping a dead god trapped in the Underworld. Harmless and nothing to fear from that, I assure you. No one can escape Hades' domain after all."

"Why not?" Callisto said softly, almost bitterly, to herself. "I did."

"What was that?" Monocles asked.

"Nothing," Callisto replied. She tossed aside the bread she had been eating, suddenly no longer hungry and rose back to her feet. She had the sudden desire to be left alone with her thoughts.

Behind her, Monocles shrugged and went back to his papers, pulling out his quill to begin writing again, only to let out a soft sigh when he remembered it was broken.

Callisto lifted her hand to her mouth, biting at her thumbnail thoughtfully as she walked, her eyes focused on the hypnotic drilling of the Spartans while her mind wandered a million miles away. Was this the reason for her return? Had Zeus and Hades conspired to bring her back to clean up a mess she had made? More importantly, was this her ticket to Elysium?

Her mouth twisted in a bitter sneer and a sliver of thumb nail tore free between her teeth. She spat it angrily off to one side. No wonder the Elysium offer had seemed so generous! it was hardly the easiest ticket to earn if she was supposed to go up against a Titan and the crazy cult that worshiped him. Not just any Titan either, but the lord of all Titans who had taken a sickle to his father's nether regions, and then eaten his own children. Even by Callisto's standards, that was a special kind of crazy. The least Zeus and Hades could have done was leave her with her godly powers! The ability to barbeque people at a glance would have been extremely helpful in this current situation.

"You alright?" said a voice at her side.

"Huh?" Callisto said distractedly.

She had wandered close to the table where Ithius stood, and he was now looking at her curiously.

"You look like someone just told you that murder and pillage was actually not a good career choice."

"I don't really think of it as a career," Callisto replied, turning to face him and cocking her head coquettishly, "more as a lifestyle."

Ithius expression did not change. He just continued to regard her measuringly.

"What's that?" she said nodding at the table. Ithius followed her gaze.

"A map," he replied.

Callisto raised her eyebrows at him.

"My my," she sneered, "Such sparkling wit to match that 'I once was a slave' chip on your shoulder."

Ithius only shrugged in response.

"I am what I am," he said, "and apparently, so are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Callisto scowled.

"Just that I've been keeping an eye on you. So far, you're pretty much exactly what I expected. A shame really. Leonidas needs you to be much more than that."

Callisto opened her mouth to speak when Leonidas himself suddenly appeared at Ithius' side, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder in a calming gesture. The high helmet he had been wearing to spar with Sentos was clutched in the crook of his arm, and a thick layer of sweat had slicked his dark hair flat to his scalp.

"Good to see you two are getting to know one another," he said, glancing purposefully between the two of them. It was a look that spoke volumes, and all of them read 'behave'.

"We were just discussing the finer points of my surprisingly widespread reputation. Apparently causing death, destruction and mayhem wherever you go is enough to brand you as untrustworthy to everyone around you." She curled a finger in the ends of her hair thoughtfully, and grinned. "Who would have thought it?"

"Indeed?" Leonidas glanced to Ithius, as if for confirmation. The former slave shrugged.

"Sometimes things have to be said," he replied, shooting Callisto a meaningful look.

"And some things are better not mentioned when in public," Leonidas replied and gestured to the map on the table that Ithius had been studying. "Now come, both of you, I wish to discuss what I have in mind for these Persians."

Callisto moved to the table and leaned forward over it on her elbows, her hands clasped together, as she studied the map with a casual eye. It showed the southern peninsula of Greece upon which Sparta was now located. A few important locations, including the city itself, had been ringed in charcoal, and possible troop movements had been marked by long sweeping lines in a similar fashion. She had seen maps such as these in many a warlord's tent over the years. She had even drawn up a few herself.

"Looks like a deployment plan to me," she said and lifted her head. "So you really think it will come to all out war?"

"The Persian's do not appear to be leaving us any other options," Leonidas said with a sigh. "I do not believe war is inevitable, but I do think it will pay to have a plan drawn up should it ultimately become so."

"And how do you plan to address their numerical advantage?" Ithius said. "Demosthenes and I..."

"King Demosthenes," Leonidas interrupted him. "Only last night I insisted he show you the respect you deserve as a free man. Now I ask you show the same respect due to a King of Sparta."

Ithius glanced up at him and gave an apologetic nod.

"I'm sorry, of course. King Demosthenes..." he corrected himself "...and I rarely see eye to eye, but on this I think we are in agreement. The Persians numerical advantage is simply too great to be bested on the open field, at least not by conventional Spartan tactics."

"My reports say that their numbers are exaggerated," Leonidas said.

Ithius shook his head grimly.

"Your reports are wrong," he replied. "I have better contacts out in the hinterlands than you do remember. Those are my people watching the Persian army mass, and they say that the numbers we've been hearing are, if anything, underestimated."

Leonidas did not challenge this. Instead he simply rubbed a hand across his chin, and for the first time Callisto noted the day's worth of stubble building up on the Spartan King's jaw, and the dark circles starting to show beneath his eyes.

"None of those estimates will matter either way if you're Ephors don't grow a spine and vote for war," she said.

"I have a plan to deal with that," Leonidas said.

"I already know it," Callisto shot back. Leonidas glanced at her, startled for a moment, than slowly his gaze slid from her and over her shoulder to where Monocles was seated on the bench, still shuffling through scrolls and old tomes. Callisto followed his gaze to the little man, then turned back to face Leonidas and grinned.

"He talks too much," she said.

"So it would seem," Leonidas nodded and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's hardly a fool proof plan, trying to find some old family tomb out in the wilds so that you can stage yourself a coup,"

Ithius glanced between the two of them, surprise showing on his face.

"This is the first I'm hearing of this," he said, sounding confused.

"Why do you think I didn't want to discuss it with you out in the open?" Leonidas replied. "Trying to seize control of the city from a ruling council that has controlled it for centuries is hardly the kind of plan one talks about in public."

Callisto was about to speak up about the Followers and their apparent interest in the tomb as well. They had after all sent people to kill Monocles and Athelis, possibly out of fear that the strange little historian might actually find it. Was that even why they had done it? Did they know of Leonidas' plan and want to stop it? Did they not want a war with Persia, or did they? She could not even be sure how much they were involved, and what would they have to gain anyway? If what Monocles had told her was the truth, why would a cult of Cronus have any interest in the ancient tomb of a Spartan king? No, she did not have enough information yet. Better to wait until she knew more before she tried to convince them of the dangers that Pelion and his Followers might pose, if in fact, they posed any danger at all.

"It may all be moot anyway," Leonidas said. "Monocles has told me that he may need several days to back track the paper trail he's working on..."

"There's a paper trail?" Callisto said, suddenly surprised. "He keeps telling me that you people are about as literate as a bunch of five year olds."

Leonidas fixed her with an annoyed stare and Callisto raised her hands in protest.

"His words, not mine," she said, then shrugged. "Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing a bit, but you get the idea."

Leonidas sighed and shook his head, clearly choosing to ignore her slight and move on.

"We do not keep written records of our deeds," he said with a note of long suffering patience, "but a tomb such as the one built for Lycurgus would not have been cheap."

Callisto frowned and looked to Ithius.

"Even Spartans have to have book keeping," he explained.

"You mean he's going through your _accounts!_" Callisto exclaimed. It hardly seemed like the kind of stuff great histories were made of.

"In a manner of speaking," Leonidas said. "The tomb of a Spartan King such as Lycurgus would doubtless need land, and stone to be built upon and of. He's attempting to track it through the city's financial ledgers. As I'm sure you can imagine, its a fairly thankless task."

Callisto glanced back over her shoulder to where Monocles was struggling to balance a tome and several long scrolls without getting them all in a tangle. She almost felt sorry for breaking his quill now. Almost.

"Anyway," Leonidas continued, "even if he can find the tomb, I doubt it will be for several days, by which point this whole situation will have already come to a head."

"Do you really think the Ephors will surrender?" Ithius asked.

Leonidas rubbed his chin thoughtfully again.

"I'm not sure, but either way, I need to be prepared to march."

"Wait a minute," Callisto said, feeling more and more confused as the conversation continued apace with her struggling to keep up.

"You said the Ephors had to vote for war. How can you march on the Persians if they don't?"

"I can't command the Spartan army to war, this is true..." Leonidas began, and suddenly Callisto saw Ithius' face light up with understanding.

"...But your own personal honour guard are under your direct command."

"And they've always liked long walks in the country side," Leonidas smiled.

Callisto's eyes narrowed as she regarded the two of them.

"How many men are we talking about here?" She asked.

"Three hundred," Leonidas replied. "Including myself of course."

Callisto gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"And I thought I was crazy!" she said.

"There's no way you can win!" Ithius protested. "If the estimates I'm hearing are correct, we're talking at least three hundred thousand Persians, maybe more! That's a _thousand_ men to every _one_ of yours."

"Only if I meet them in open combat," Leonidas said. "That was the mistake we made at Marathon. I won't make it again now."

He stabbed a finger at a point on the map where the mountains ran close to the coastline and divided what appeared to be the lands across which the Persians would be advancing and the Spartan territories beyond.

"If they want to keep their momentum up, they will have to pass through here. The Hot Gates at Thermopylae."

Ithius' eyes narrowed as he listened to what Leonidas was saying.

"Their numbers wouldn't count for much there," he said thoughtfully.

"And if they don't go through the pass?" Callisto said.

Leonidas shook his head.

"They won't have a choice," he said. "To go around those mountains any other way would add a month to their conquest. With an army that size, they can't afford the supplies that would eat through. They would quickly demoralise, and Xerxes would have little choice but to turn back. No, they'll come through the Hot Gates, and when they do, I'll be waiting for them."

Ithius looked up from the map.

"You'll need more men," he said simply.

Ithius was right. The Hot Gates would be difficult to hold for long against such a numerically superior force, even with a force ten times the size of the one Leonidas was planning to send. Fatigue would be the biggest factor. The Persians would have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of soldiers to throw at them, while Leonidas' troops would grow more weary and demoralised as the days passed and the casualties mounted.

"I've already got more men on the way," Leonidas smiled. "Demosthenes and the Ephors may not trust the Athenians, but I've been keeping the back channels open since Marathon. I sent envoys to them weeks ago and they returned in the early hours of this morning. The Athenians are already sending soldiers to my aid should I need them."

"How many are they sending you?" Callisto asked.

"Some four thousand," Leonidas replied, a note of doubt suddenly creeping back in to his tone. Callisto could see why. From the look on their faces, she could also see that Leonidas and Ithius had both reached the same conclusion as her.

"It won't be enough," Ithius said shaking his head.

"That's why I needed to speak with you, old friend," Leonidas said. "I need your people. I need the Helots."

Ithius sighed.

"I knew this was coming," he said. "Leonidas, I told you yesterday, and a hundred times before that, my people have bled enough for Sparta. Why should they continue to do so? The Persians can do no worse to them than your own people already have. They'd only be trading one master for another. What difference is that to a slave?"

"But the Persian's would never free them," Leonidas replied. Ithius' face suddenly went very still as he fixed the Spartan King with a cold stare.

"I thought our friendship was worth more to you than feeble jokes at my people's expense," he said. "Don't toy with me Leonidas. Can you do what you are suggesting?"

Leonidas gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Ithius," he said, his tone one of brutal, guileless honesty. "If they ride with me, and if we win the day, then all who fought at my side will have been instrumental in saving Sparta! Freedom is the least reward I could give them! But I can only grant it to those who would fight with me, and I need them to agree to it. I can't just order them to fight."

"If we go with you, more of my people will die," Ithius said.

"A small price to pay for the possibility of freedom though, don't you think?" Leonidas replied.

Ithius fell silent sitting very still at the table, staring down at the map but not really seeming to see it. Callisto began to drum her fingers against the table's wood grain in boredom. To her the decision did not require any thought. Freedom was, after all, something you always had to fight for, but then in her experience, you had to fight for most things you wanted, especially if someone else wanted the opposite.

"Alright," Ithius said finally. "I'll talk to my people, do my best to get them to join you, and to make certain of their loyalty, I'll ride with you too."

Leonidas gave a relieved smile.

"This will work Ithius," he said, holding out his hand. "You'll see."

Ithius took it and shook it firmly but his expression was pensive and concerned.

"What's wrong my friend?" Leonidas asked. "Together we will drive back the Persians, defend our homes and win freedom for a great many Helots. Surely that's not bad for a couple of days work?"

Ithius only frowned down at the map.

"I just have a bad feeling," he said, and pointed to the Hot Gates. "You're sure this is the only pass through the mountains?"

"The only substantial one yes," Leonidas nodded.

Callisto shot Ithius a wary glance.

"The only substantial one?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"There may be others," Leonidas admitted. "Small cattle trails and the like leading through the hills, used by local farmers and such."

Callisto leaned forward, her tone suddenly deadly serious.

"Leonidas, your plan only works if you can keep the Persians off your flanks. If other passes through those mountains exist, and if they find them, you'll be surrounded." She leaned back away from the table and regarded him steadily. "Your chances of survival then drop from slim to less than none. Ever crushed a walnut with a war hammer? I believe the phrase used is overkill."

"There are always risks in any plan," Leonidas replied, and turned to Ithius. "We need only hold the pass for as long as it takes for the Persians to lose the will to fight. At Marathon they had no stomach for a prolonged battle. They pulled back when the reinforcements arrived because it was more fight than they were used to. This will happen again! I'm sure of it."

Ithius nodded.

"You're probably right," he said, but the worried expression never left his face.

"I have one more problem with your plan," Callisto said.

Leonidas looked at her questioningly.

"The line you draw in the sand there is going to have to hold, and hold firm," Callisto said.

"Your point being?" Leonidas said.

Callisto glanced over her shoulder toward the drilling Spartans.

"Spartan close formation fighting is legendary," she said. "but none of your allies will be as rigorously drilled in it as you. That puts you and your men at the center of the front line. A bulwark against the Persian flood, am I right?"

Leonidas nodded.

"Then your going to be in the thick of the fighting for the longest time," Callisto continued, "and you'll have to hold together. Your three hundred can't so much as falter, not even once. Do you really think they can do that for days at a time."

Leonidas smiled at her toothily.

"Callisto, we're Spartans. Holding together is what we were trained for from the very day we were born. It's..." he struggled to find the words, "...it's just what we do. My men will not fail. Not when their homeland and countrymen are at stake."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"You Spartans do love to chest pound don't you?" she said. "All so rugged and masculine. What if I was to tell you that I could break your little formation over there. Just me. On my own."

"I'd say show us," Ithius said, leaning forward challengingly and with a spark of interest behind his eyes. Leonidas nodded in agreement.

"Agreed," he said. "We still have not seen the legendary Callisto in action. It will be interesting to see how the only person in Greece beyond Hercules to go toe to toe with Xena handles herself in battle."

Callisto grinned wickedly.

"Then get ready for a show," she said and clambered to her feet. "I really am quite something."

She began to walk toward the formation when she heard Leonidas call out behind her.

"SPARTANS! FORM UP AND ON MY INSTRUCTION, ATTACK!"

The Spartan line immediately span to face her, shields snapping into place, with over a dozen spears pointing through the crescent spaces in the shield sides, all tracing lines directly toward her. She drew her sword, her smile widening as she felt the adrenaline beginning to race inside her. This might actually be fun.

"ADVANCE!" she heard Leonidas shout. The Spartans moved in seemingly perfect lock step, their shields forming an almost impenetrable wall of bronze, their spears held rigid, straight and razor's edge sharp.

"Here we go then," Callisto muttered to herself, and then, with a fierce banshee shriek, she flung herself forward.

The Spartans reacted immediately. The front line braced hard behind their shields as she dove at them, their spear tips raising slightly to track with her. She angled first for the biggest Spartan on the line, a brute of a man who had to crouch slightly to keep behind his shield in the same manner as the others.

The Spartans saw the attack coming, and the big man locked his shield tightly, while his neighbour, a smaller man in the line, hefted his own weapon ready to strike at her from the side as she assaulted his larger compatriot. It was exactly what she had been expecting. The smaller man, she had noted earlier, was a fraction of a second slower than his fellows, making him the line's clearest weak spot. To most it would have been a negligible fault, a tiny chink in otherwise all encompassing armour. To her, it was a gap large enough to drive a wagon through.

As the smaller man thrust with his spear, his shield shifted slightly, and before he could react to close the gap, Callisto had adjusted to aim straight for it. She easily weaved around the spear strike and stepped inside the man's guard, her sword thrusting through the gap in the shields, but being equally careful not to impale the man on the end of it. He was one of Leonidas' men after all.

"There's the crack," she giggled to herself. "Now to drive in the wedge!"

Unable to bring his shield in to close the gap with her sword blocking the way, and with a clumsy spear, unsuitable for such close in fighting, getting in his way, the man took the only course of action available to him. He dropped the spear and pulled his shield aside in an attempt to draw the sword fastened to his hip. It was all the invitation Callisto needed. She yanked her sword free and aimed a powerful snap kick into the man's midriff, driving the wind out of him, before spinning back to plant another kick into the ribs of the big man who she had originally been aiming for and whose side was now exposed. Spartans from the rear rank began to move up to fill the open space, but it was already too late, and Callisto was through the gap she had opened, laughing mockingly as she struck left and right with the flat of her sword, the wedge well and truly driven home.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" She heard Leonidas shout. Around her, the Spartans immediately dropped their weapons and fell to one knee. Callisto glanced about herself. She was the only one remaining standing.

She turned to face Leonidas who was striding purposefully toward her, Ithius only a few paces behind him. He drew up a couple of paces from her, his eyes appraising her in a completely new light. For a moment Callisto thought he would become angry at her. Men tended to do that when you broke their toys. Instead though, he smiled broadly.

"So what do you think Ithius," he called back over his shoulder. "Quite the spectacle when she goes to work isn't she."

"She has talent," Ithius nodded in agreement, but something about his tone suggested he was unimpressed, "but no discipline."

"You think you can take me?" Callisto spat back, grinning devilishly as she did so.

Ithius answering smile was cold and superior.

"I know I can," he said.

Something about his smile irked her and she felt the anger that had been bubbling quietly in the pit of her stomach suddenly spark to life, catching and holding until it burned fiercely. She lifted one of her long, tapered fingers and hooked it toward herself.

"Care to see if you're self confidence is really warranted then?" she said, tilting her head and pursing her lips tightly.

Ithius' smile broadened but never touched his eyes. He span on his heel and went to retrieve his sword from the nearby table. As he did so, Leonidas moved to stand beside her.

"Good luck," he said, his voice genuine.

Callisto snorted.

"Luck!?" she sneered, "He's a Helot, a farmer. How could he even hope to beat me?"

Leonidas gave her an amused look.

"It's almost a shame to spoil the surprise you're going to get, but Ithius was my personal attendant since before I could even walk," he said. "When I was a child and began training in spear, shield and sword, my father dictated that he be trained too. He wanted an opponent for me that would be my equal in skill and who would not shrink from doing his best to end me, which Ithius was ordered to do every time we sparred, incidentally. He showed a remarkable aptitude for the martial skills we practice, and over the years experience has honed him even sharper. He's been at my side through more wars than I can count, and there is no finer swordsman in all of Sparta."

"But not all of Greece," Callisto replied smugly.

"Perhaps," Leonidas nodded. "But it looks like now we will find out exactly where _you_ rank."

Callisto scowled at him in annoyance. Did he honestly think she was about to let some jumped up former slave show her up after she had just taken apart a Spartan Phalanx? Ithius stepped up a couple of strides away from her, his sword held in the ready position, the blade shining brightly as the sun overhead pushed on toward midday.

Callisto lifted her own sword in return.

"You going to go easy on me?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not at all," Ithius replied.

"Good," Callisto said, her grin turning to a snarl. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

With that she flung herself forward, screaming loudly as her sword flashed in front of her in wicked cross cut. She had expected resistance, a parry of some kind, anything other than what actually happened. \

Her sword met nothing but air.

Ithius had already taken a step back to stand just out of reach. Her next two strikes were met similarly, as he twisted and turned to avoid them, always moving just beyond her blade's tip. They broke apart suddenly, Callisto's chest already heaving from her exertions.

"Not good enough." Ithius said, shaking his head. "Again. Try harder."

Callisto bellowed frustratedly and leaped at him, redoubling her efforts as the blade of her sword swang quickly from cross cuts, to downward strikes, to whirling backhanders, and even savage thrusts aiming to pierce Ithius' heart.

Still each strike met nothing but air, as the former Helot ducked and weaved around her. She could feel her frustration giving way to the boiling anger inside her, and as her ire grew, so did the lethality of her strikes. She wasn't pulling blows any more. Every thrust and swing carried her full strength behind it, each with the intention of ending Ithius' life. A particularly vicious strike aimed for his face whistled by only milimetres from the bridge of his nose and he danced back quickly, his feet kicking up clouds of sand as the distance between them increased. Callisto could feel her chest heaving raggedly with every breath.

"You're starting to look tired," Ithius said matter-of-factly. "Would you like to take a breather? Come back to it when you're more refreshed?"

Callisto said nothing. Her lip curled up in a sneer and she moved in on him again. This time she went low in an effort to hamstring him and keep him from dancing around her. Again, the result was the same and she felt a furious scream building in her throat. She knew she was fast. In fact she prided herself on it, but Ithius' speed was almost inhuman, and his patience seemingly infinite. Her faints did not draw him in, but every time she swung he seemed to be somewhere else. It was the silence with which he did it that fueled her anger most though. Others would have taunted her, or yelled or... or... something... anything... Instead, Ithius said nothing. There was nothing for her to spark off of, nothing to channel her rage into, and it infuriated her.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, her sword met his with a powerful crash that sent a shower of sparks skittering across the sand at their feet. Callisto grunted. She wanted to believe she had finally worn him down, but she knew it was not true. Their swords had met because he had wanted them to. She tried to step back, to give herself space, but Ithius moved with her, his sword grinding against hers, the screech of steel on steel filling the air.

"Come on Callisto," he said, his face mere inches from hers. "This isn't good enough. Not to beat me, not to help Leonidas stop the Persians, and certainly not enough to stop the anger inside you."

Suddenly he stepped back, his blade falling back with him and Callisto over balanced.

"Still not good enough! Again!" she heard him shout at her. "Try Again!"

She used the forward stumble to carry her blade through in a vicious upper cut, and Ithius barely sidestepped in time, his feet skidding in the sand, his own balance momentarily lost. It was the first real opening she had had the entire duel and she exploited it savagely. Twisting on her heel, she brought her sword down hard, Ithius' own blade coming up in a nick-of-time parry that caused the weapons to meet with a fierce ringing that jarred both of them to their bones and drove Ithius down to one knee. Callisto followed it with a second strike, then a third and fourth, her sword smashing down onto his with greater and greater ferocity as her pent up fury finally found something to unleash itself on.

With each strike, Ithius was driven a little further down until, in desperation, his leg lashed out in a wide sweep. It was an obvious move and Callisto hopped over it easily, but it provided Ithius the moment's respite he needed. When her fifth strike came hammering down, he twisted on his knee in an awkward but effective spin that carried him clear of her sword. Unable to arrest her attack's follow through, Callisto felt her sword slice into the sand at her feet, as next to her Ithius surged to his own in a spin that would bring his blade around and into the back of her neck. She felt the sweet kiss of cold steel on her skin, and for the briefest moment, she thought this might actually be how she was going to die. Ithius proved to have more control than she would have had in the same circumstances though, and he simply held the sword poised on the back of her neck.

"Why couldn't you do it?" he said simply. "Why couldn't you beat me?" His breathing was a little rough and ragged, but from the tone of his voice, Callisto guessed it was a question intended for her to ponder. He sounded like he already knew the answer.

"You..." Callisto panted, stepping out from beneath his sword, and straightening "...you move too fast."

She turned to glare at him angrily.

"I couldn't keep up..." she said, still breathing heavily. "...Every time... I went on the offensive you were... somewhere else. Every thrust... every swing... nothing."

Ithius shook his head.

"That's not the reason," he said. "And you know it too. It's just another lie you tell yourself, another deception so you won't have to face up to the truth."

Callisto glanced around at the others watching them. Leonidas had an expression of interest on his face, and even Monocles had looked up from his work to watch them.

"And what truth would that be?" she sneered, her temper still flaring hotly inside her as she felt the eyes all around focused on her.

"The truth that it wasn't me who defeated you today," he said "You're better than me, faster than me, so why couldn't you beat, or even hit me?"

Callisto was about to snap off an exasperated reply that she had been doing a pretty good job of it toward the end, when she was distracted by the sounds of angry voices from outside the courtyard. Nearby, Leonidas nodded to Sentos who promptly turned and set off toward the source of the disturbance, a pair of soldiers falling in to either side of him. They had barely gone two steps though, when the doors to the courtyard slammed open furiously, and Demosthenes strode in at the head of what Callisto could only assume to be a small army. Flanking him to either side were a number of Spartan soldiers all in blue cloaks with a single clasp marked by Demosthenes' charging bull symbol. Clearly a personal retinue of some kind.

Behind them came the Ephors, Nestus close on Demosthenes' heels as he moved along at a brisk and angry clip. In their wake came the Persians. They numbered all of the Persian party that had accompanied Hutâna the day before, with one notable exception; Hutâna himself.

She shifted her balance slightly and tightened her grip on her sword. Something told what was about to come would be less than pleasant.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Leonidas demanded furiously, stepping clear of his men to confront the newcomers as he did so.

"Step aside Leonidas," Demosthenes said, looking past Leonidas and straight at Callisto.

"Like Tartarus I will!" Leonidas snapped, and rounded on Nestus. "I am not only a private citizen of Sparta, but a King of the Agiad line! Your intrusion here is trespassing. This palace is my property, and I demand to know the reason for your coming here unannounced."

"My apologies Leonidas," Nestus said, "Normally I would have requested an audience with you, as is befitting, but the circumstances are somewhat urgent..."

"Enough of this farce!" Shouted the Persian captain Callisto remembered from the night before. He pointed furiously at her, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Hand over the woman Spartan, or my men and I will take her by force!"

Demosthenes rounded on him at that.

"Watch yourself Persian," he snapped. "You are speaking to a King of Sparta and will show him the respect her deserves. We are here to apprehend her according to Spartan law. When or if we even find her guilty of the crime which you accuse her of, she will be surrendered to you, and not before. That was the agreement we made, and we intend to honour it, as should you."

Leonidas glanced at Callisto, confusion writ large across his face.

"What did you do?" she heard Ithius whisper behind her, his tone practically a mirror of Leonidas' expression.

"That's what I'd like to know," she replied.

In front of her, Leonidas straightened, lifting his chin imperiously as he prepared to speak.

"Callisto is my guest and as such is under my protection while she remains within Sparta's walls," he announced, his voice suddenly changing from the more casual and familiar tones he had used earlier, to more regal and commanding ones. "I demand to know what crime she is being charged with that would lead to you feeling the need to come banging down my door, with over a dozen armed men in tow I might add!"

Nestus gave Leonidas a long searching look, as if trying to decide whether the king was simply feigning ignorance, or if he honestly did not know what had happened. Being that Callisto herself had no idea what was going on, she imagined it was the latter.

"Leonidas," Demosthenes said softly, "we've come to arrest her on suspicion of murder."

"She has been my guest here all night," Leonidas responded. "Who is she supposed to have murdered?"

Callisto was pretty sure she could guess.

"Persian Ambassador Hutâna," Demosthenes said.

Callisto nodded to herself.

"Thought so," she muttered.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It hasn't been that long since my last update, but I made it over the early hump with this story and things are moving ahead now. I apologise for the length of this part, but this chapter proved to be an absolute beast, what with so much stuff to get through. Still one of the big reveals is now out of the way, which is a relief as I can start to name the character now. It makes the prose a little less purple. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it, and I 'll try my best to be back with another update soon.

EDIT: Some minor edits made, particularly to the dialogue in the last fight between Ithius and Callisto.


	10. Chapter Nine: Trust Issues

**Chapter Nine: Trust Issues**

"Is what they are saying true?"

Leonidas rounded on Callisto, his expression akin to having just been slapped. She could hardly blame him she supposed. The news of Hutâna's murder was as much of a surprise to her as it no doubt was to him, and even she had to admit she could see the reasoning behind it. After all, she could hardly be said to have been friendly to the man. Still, it did not make Leonidas' sudden suspicion of her sting any less.

"You actually believe them?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him in disbelief, trying desperately to hold on to her temper.

"Is it true?" Leonidas pushed, taking a step toward her. "I saw you with Hutâna last night. There was certainly no love lost between the two of you, and what with your reputation..."

"Oh, I get it," she said, nodding as if suddenly understanding for the first time. "Someone gets murdered and your first instinct is to blame the mass murdering psycho in your midst."

She paused and cocked her head.

"Actually, that's probably a good instinct," she admitted.

Leonidas' jaw clenched tightly at that, his teeth obviously grinding against one another in frustration.

"Enough jokes!" He snapped, his voice suddenly hard as iron. "I brought you into this city, made you an honoured guest of my house, vouched for you in front of a council of my peers, and now you won't even answer a simple question!? I trusted you to help us!"

"You didn't trust me!" Callisto hissed back at him, their conversation on the hill outside the city still vivid in her memory. "You heard got woolly oracular prophecy from some drugged up old hag half way up a mountain, and thought that that made me the answer to all your problems! I've got news for you Leonidas. You don't ally with someone like me if you have a choice. I'm not a problem solver! In fact, I have a remarkable capacity for causing them!"

"Is it true then!?" Leonidas said, his expression suddenly wounded. "Did you kill Hutâna?"

"NO!" Callisto snapped, the tenuous grip she had on her temper failing her in an instant of heated anger. "I didn't kill him! I didn't kill anyone!"

Leonidas continued to stare at her, a confused look on his face, as if her were trying to decide whether or not she was really telling the truth. From all around, she could feel more pairs of eyes focusing on her, each asking the same question. Had she killed Hutâna? The answer was obviously no, but that led to the question of who actually had? Who would stand to gain the most from his death? Killing Xerxes' own ambassador was the most sure fire way to begin a war she could think of certainly, but, as far as she could tell, of everyone here, no one seemed to have a vested interest in actually going to war. Leonidas' plans had felt like more of a contingency effort should all else fail, Demosthenes seemed concerned about the Persian threat, but indecisive, and the Ephors actively opposed the war. Could it have been one of Hutâna's own men then? Internal politics could explain it, but that explanation did not sit entirely right with her either. The Persian's would have a swifter and easier conquest of Greece if they did not have to divert their attention to subduing Sparta. A war did not ultimately serve their ends, any more than it did the Spartans. Who was behind it all then? Thoughts of Pelion and his Followers swam through her mind, along with memories of her deal with Zeus and Hades, and the supposed Oracular prophecy Leonidas had spoken of. What angle were they pursuing here? Their worship of Cronus, and the problems she knew of in Tartarus could not be simple coincidence either. It all had to tie together somehow, she was sure of it. The only problem was, she was not sure how.

"She lies!" she heard the Persian captain hiss nearby. "You all saw her threaten Ambassador Hutâna last night! He came to her with a gracious offer of peace, and she spat it back in his face like the rabid animal she is!"

"You stay out of this!" Leonidas said, rounding on the captain suddenly. "You are in my house now, not some city council chamber, and here you will afford me the same courtesy I have so far shown you! This is our city! If Callisto has killed here, she will face our justice, not yours."

"Ambassador Hutâna was no Spartan..." the captain began to retort.

"More's the pity," she heard Ithius mutter to himself nearby. The Persian captain shot him an icy glare but continued on regardless.

"...He was a trusted advisor to the God King Xerxes himself!" he blustered. "We demand that she be delivered to us! If she is not, the Great King Xerxes will see to it that you all suffer in her place!"

Once again, Ithius moved like lightning, suddenly stepping up close to the Persian captain and leaning in until his face was mere inches from the Persian's own.

"Are you attempting to threaten us?" he said, his voice low but steady.

"I simply state facts, slave," The Persian said, apparently unimpressed as his face lit up with a cocksure grin. "Xerxes does not offer his hand in friendship lightly. To have it batted aside with so little regard will be the utmost insult to him, and those who have done such things in the past have seldom lived long enough to regret it."

"I warned you yesterday Persian," Ithius said, his tone flat and unchanging, but his eyes blazing fiercely as he began to reach for his sword. "I am no slave..."

"Gentlemen, please!"

It was Nestus, suddenly stepping in close to both Ithius and the Persian captain. He placed a conciliatory hand on each man's shoulder as he did so arresting the sudden tension in the manner of a skilled negotiator.

"We are not here to fight each other, only to see that justice is had..." he glanced pointedly at Leonidas, "...by all," he finished.

He shifted his gaze from Leonidas to Callisto.

"She must be brought with us Leonidas," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "A murder _was_ done last night, and the Persians are the wronged party here, with ample cause for suspicion. There are questions that must be asked of her, at the very least."

The courtyard fell silent, as Leonidas turned to regard her.

There was something behind those eyes now, something that reminded her of her father and the way he had looked at her when he had caught her stealing apples from old man Bunyus' market stall. It had not been a look of anger, or even annoyance. Instead he had just had a look of bitter disappointment. At the time, that look had cut the young Callisto to the bone. She was surprised to feel Leonidas' look cutting her the same way now. She could feel something, something she had never really felt before. What was it? Shame? Embarassment? She did not even know. She just knew she did not like it, and her anger flared hotly to counter it.

She placed her hands on her hips, and glared back at Leonidas furiously.

"I didn't do it," she said defiantly.

Leonidas watched her with that same hurt expression for a moment or so longer, before turning away and nodding toward Demosthenes.

Callisto felt her throat go dry and she swallowed. Was he really giving her up to them? She was still trying to process her shock at what had just happened when Demosthenes motioned to several of his own Spartans, who quickly fell in beside him as they moved to surround her. At a gesture from their leader, two of the Spartans moved to either side of her, seizing her arms between rough calloused hands. As they did so, she twisted and hissed angrily at them, but they continued to hold her firm.

"So this is how you treat your guests?" she snarled, spitting angrily at one of the Spartans who held her. "I'd hate to see what you do to your enemies!"

"Now, please Callisto, don't make this any harder than it needs to be," Demosthenes said apologetically as he advanced on her. "We only wish to ask you questions, to determine what, if any, role you may have had in Hutâna's death."

She struggled even harder, twisting this way and that in a vain effort to get free. She could not let this happen! There was something rotten going on beneath all this surface politicking and posturing, and locked up in a cell she would never find the truth behind any of it.

"And if you don't like my answers?" she sneered, shooting Leonidas an angry look from across Demosthenes' shoulder.

"Then I will personally see to it that you are brought before the God King, so that he may scatter your entrails to every corner of Greece as a warning to those who would make an enemy of his divine might!" The Persian captain interjected smartly.

Callisto gave a deeply sarcastic laugh.

"Wow..." she began, "...you really do make such a lovely invitation, but you know what?" Her lip curled upward in a nasty grin as a plan suddenly came to her.

"I think I'll pass,"

Suddenly, and without warning she vaulted backwards, her arms twisting in the grips of the unsuspecting Spartans. Her feet flashed up, planting themselves firmly against Demosthenes' stomach, then, pushing her weight back against the men holding her as a counterbalance, she proceeded to run up him, each footstep a vicious kick until she reached his shoulders. With a terrible shriek of anger, she pushed hard off Demosthenes with her left leg; her trailing right leg following through to catch him under the chin with resounding crack that sent him sailing backward and onto the sandy ground beneath them. The grips of the Spartans to either side of her failed as she turned the vault into a backward somersault, and then suddenly she was free, tumbling through the air to land with all the grace of hunting panther.

"Stop her!" she heard the Persian captain cry, and immediately her sword was in her hand as two of the Persian's advanced on her, their heavy scimitars glistening sharply. They managed to strike first, and Callisto only just managed to bring her sword up in time. The sheer weight of their blades striking against her desperate parries shook her to her very bones, but as she settled into the cadence of the fight, the strikes became easier to defend against, her blade sweeping quickly from attack to defence and back again.

She began thinking about her next move. The Spartans were already moving toward her, and she knew that, with the numbers they had arrayed against her, time was not on her side. She had to move and move quickly, but where to? Even if she escaped the palace, she would still be alone and without allies in the heart of a suddenly hostile city.

She tried to slow her racing thoughts. She needed to take things one step at a time. That was what she had always tried to tell herself, but it had proved to be something she was remarkably bad at doing. First she needed to get clear of the palace, then she could start to think about what came next, such as how to escape the city itself.

A fresh Persian sword strike met another of her parries, jarring her teeth, as it hit home with all the subtlety and finesse of a charging cyclops. Without pausing, she quickly sidestepped the second Persian's follow up, an over balanced downward hack, and pivoted on her heel, her free leg sweeping round in a powerful roundhouse kick that sent the first Persian flying. The second Persian's follow through from his hard downward blow had left him doubled over, and suddenly open to a counter sword thrust to the ribs. Callisto was about to move in and finish him, when a sudden warning feeling in the back of her mind stopped her. Sure, killing the Persians might make sense from the self preservation side of things, it would probably even make her feel better, but she also had the distinct feeling it would do her comparatively little good when the time came to try and convince Leonidas of her innocence. That thought gave her a moment's pause. Why she even care whether or not Leonidas considered her innocent?

Doing her best to push the distractions from her mind, she stepped in close to the doubled up Persian and drove her knee up into his face, sending him sprawling on his back and into unconsciousness. Behind her she heard the clatter of shields and spears moving to surround her and cursed softly.

Her time had run out.

Without thinking, she turned and ran, sprinting for the stairs that led to the second floor and the room she had woken up in. She hit the steps at speed, all but flying up them two at a time, and skidding to a stop at the top as her mind raced desperately. She needed a way out of the palace, but how?

Somewhere close by she heard a dog howl and a grin lit up her face. Behind her, the sounds of the Spartan soldiers in pursuit filled the air, their armour clattering loudly as they mounted the stairs. Callisto did not wait a moment longer. She took off at a sprint, casting a sideways dance down into the courtyard at the assembled figures of Leonidas and the others still watching her. She grinned and tossed them a jaunty wave before angling back down the corridor toward her bedchamber. She was almost beginning to enjoy this!

As she dashed inside, she mule kicked the door closed behind her and grabbed the bronze bowl filled with scented water she had used earlier, before yanking down one of the white linen drapes from above the window and tying a hurried slipknot in it. She just hoped she remembered the distances from the window correctly.

Suddenly, the door crashed open with a splintering crunch as the Spartans battered through it. Callisto wasted no more time as the first of the Spartans came through the door. Remembering all the times she had delighted in taunting Xena with her skill, she curled her arm back, her fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the bowl, before suddenly whipping her arm forward to hurl it, chakram like, across the chamber. The first Spartan choked painfully as its hard bronze edge caught him across the windpipe, causing him to stumble off balance toward Callisto.

Without hesitation, she whirled the knotted white linen rope she had made above her head and let fly, feeling a tinge of satisfaction as the knotted loop dropped neatly over the Spartan's shoulders, and then, with a well timed tug from her, tightened around his waist. Quickly, so as not give the Spartans time to react, she turned and sprang onto the window ledge, crouching with her knees wide and fingers splayed for an instant, before turning to flash the Spartans a pitying grin as the last of them finally made it through the door.

"And you were doing so well too..." she smiled, then, still clutching tightly to the drape wrapped around the first Spartan's waist, she straightened up to her full height and dropped backward out of the window. The wind whistled loudly in her ears and her hair whipped desperately in front of her face as she dropped in complete free fall. From above she heard a pained gasp as the Spartan was yanked toward the window, only managing to stop himself from being pulled out after her by bracing his arms and feet stiffly against the window frame.

Callisto felt the limp drape between her fingers yank taught to an accompanying pained gasp from above as the Spartan was suddenly forced to take her weight, and then she was no longer free falling but instead swinging in toward the palace wall. She lifted her legs, and bent her knees as the cold stone rushed up to meet her, then for a moment she remained still, hanging against the wall, the drape still clutched tightly between her fingers.

Somewhere above, she heard her little Spartan anchor give a loud grunt as he strained desperately with all his strength to keep from being pulled out of the window by her. She looked back over her shoulder and there, sure enough only a few feet below and slightly aside of her was the top of the palace's outer defensive wall.

"Hey up there!" She shouted snarkily back up the drape. "I'd be much obliged if you could hold on a few more seconds!"

Her only reply was an answering groan of frustration from the Spartan. She giggled to herself and bent her knees, then, with a powerful shove, she sprang backward away from the palace wall and out over the defensive wall beneath her, the sound of the drape tearing under the strain filling her ears. At the apex of her outward swing, she released her grip on the improvised rope, and dropped, landing cat-like on the outer wall of the Palace. The evenly cobbled streets of the Inner City stared back at her, open and inviting. She grinned delightedly and cast a backward glance over her shoulder where the pursuing Spartans were now all clustered around the window, their jaws hanging open in amazement.

With a taunting laugh, she blew them a kiss then vaulted down from the outer wall, landing spryly in the street, and dashing off into the city beyond.

* * *

The assembled crowd in the courtyard stood quietly as the Spartans that had pursued Callisto returned empty handed, one of them even massaging a livid purple bruise across his throat. The Persian captain rounded on Leonidas, a dark fury shining behind his eyes.

"You let her get away!" he snapped accusingly.

"I assure you, I did no such thing," Leonidas replied, slightly less sharply, but with no less venom. He was hardly surprised at her escape really. Her taking apart of his phalanx had been like nothing he had ever seen before. Bringing her back in would prove no easy task, even for a force as skilled at arms as the Spartans were.

"Maybe if you had held your temper and not come in here throwing around wild accusations, she may have felt less inclined to run," he continued, doing his best to keep his voice even, although truthfully, he could already feel the overwhelming urge to take up a spear and thrust it straight into the captain's temple. The mental image it conjured was most satisfying.

"You dare to accuse me of wrong doing!" the captain said, incredulous. "We are the victims here! We came to you open handed, offering peace, friendship and..."

"...Surrender?" Leonidas retorted. He shot a glance toward Ithius. "Slavery even?"

A low smile spread across the Persian's face.

"Whatever works," he said.

"ENOUGH!" Demosthenes' voice echoed across the courtyard like like the ringing doom of a hammer to an anvil. Using his size, he quickly stepped between the two arguing men, shooting sideways glances to both of them as he rubbed at the spot on his jaw where Callisto had kicked him.

"These recriminations are pointless," he said, his voice now steadier and more controlled but remaining as hard as cold steel. "We came here to take Callisto into custody. Now she has escaped, and so we have no more reason to intrude upon King Leonidas' time or hospitality."

The Persian captain shook his head at that.

"We are not finished yet," he said. "There is still much to be discussed, such as your response to our offer..."

"...which will still be discussed in due course," Demosthenes replied, talking loudly over the Persian.

"Indeed," said Nestus, stepping in to smooth over the increasing hostility that could be felt upon the air like the sense of impending rain. "Now is hardly the time to discuss such crucial matters. We had agreed to reconvene the council today for further debate, and we shall hold to that plan. I trust that that is satisfactory to you?"

The Persian stood in silence for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Barely," he said, "but under the circumstances I am prepared to be magnanimous. We shall attend your council then, but I plan to depart this city before nightfall. Great King Xerxes must be informed of what has taken place here. It may be that he chooses to rescind his most gracious of offers."

"Let us hope that that does not prove so," said Nestus, giving a deep and respectful bow. The Persian captain regarded him disdainfully for a moment before turning and motioning to the rest of the party to follow him. They stalked out past the watching Spartans, their heads held so high it was a wonder to Leonidas that they did not strain their backs.

Slowly, Nestus straightened and turned to glare at Leonidas.

"Just what in all of Tartarus do you think you're playing at!?" he snapped. "First you bring that woman into our city, then you let her antagonise an army so large it could defeat the combined forces of almost every city in Greece combined. And then, the crowning turd in the latrine, you let her, a known murderer and warmonger, have free rein so that she can kill an important foreign dignitary!?"

"We do not know she actually killed him," Ithius said from nearby. He had been silent since he had threatened the Persian captain. "It could have very well been someone else."

"Like who?" Demosthenes said.

"I was the one who put a sword to his throat last night," Ithius replied. "Did you ever consider that I might have done it?"

He paused as all eyes suddenly focused on him.

"I didn't though," he added quickly.

"We know," Demosthenes said. "You were seen departing the Inner City last night in that wagon of yours. What with the Helot gathering outside the gates, it was considered safest to close and bar them last night. There was no way you could've gotten back inside."

"And don't think that little security measure didn't go unnoticed," Ithius said. "My people were less than impressed at such treatment."

Demosthenes waved his hand dismissively.

"Your people will have to learn to live with it," he said. "We are the masters of this city and we do not answer to you."

"For now at least," Ithius said with a glance toward Leonidas that did not go unnoticed, both Nestus and Demosthenes narrowing their eyes when they saw it.

"Either way," Nestus began, still watching the pair of them, "we have a council meeting to prepare for. It's time we were about our business."

Like the Persians before him, he turned and began to leave, the rest of the Ephors following close behind. Demosthenes turned to follow but shot one last look back over his shoulder toward them both.

"Be careful Leonidas," he said. "After yesterday, you are standing on shifting sands. You should have a care that they do not bury you."

With that, he turned and followed Nestus out of the palace, his soldiers trailing in his wake.

Left in the courtyard, surrounded only by Ithius and his men, he finally let the mask of calm he had been holding onto crack, and reached out to seize a spear from one of his men. The man relinquished his weapon to his King without so much as a flinch, and with terrific bellow of fury, Leonidas pivoted on his heel, hurling the spear with all his might so that it flew straight and true to imbed itself clean through the chest of nearby straw-filled training dummy.

How could he have been so foolish!? How could he have trusted Callisto, even for the barest moment, let alone the day or so he had actually known her. The woman was, as Nestus had said, a murderer and a warmonger, leaving a trail of chaos and bloodshed wherever she went. Why had he thought she would prove to be any different here?

It had been the prophecy obviously. He had never taken much stock in Oracles or their vague foretellings before, preferring instead to trust in his own guile and skills to see him through his life, but that day at the temple of Ares had been different. He had gone there out of desperation, seeking the same wisdom that the old stories claimed so many other great Spartans had found there, through their communion with the war god's own Oracle, and therefore by extension, the God of War himself.

What the Oracle had told him had planted a seed in the back of his mind; that a woman, Callisto, would come to their city and on her shoulders would rest the fate of all of Greece, had sounded unbelievable at first, but the seed had been planted nevertheless. Then he had remembered who Callisto was and the many tall and incredible tales he had heard of her and her exploits. They were all grim and terrible of course, but still incredible, and that seed the Oracle had planted had taken root. It was encountering her on the road that had finally made it bloom though, the seemingly by chance meeting had been far too perfectly orchestrated to be pure coincidence.

But now she had proved those words false. Instead of delivering them from a war, she had set them teetering on the very brink, then fled, leaving him alone to topple into the abyss.

Ithius coughed politely behind him and Leonidas glanced back over his shoulder.

"You have something to say?" he said.

"Only what a fine mess you've managed to make of things," Ithius replied, his face perfectly steady. He had always been that way. A rock in stormy seas and the perfect counterpoint to Leonidas' occasionally more flamboyant manner. It was perhaps why his father had chosen Ithius as Leonidas' personal retainer and sparring partner.

"Really?" Leonidas replied sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed."

Ithius only shrugged.

"Maybe you were too busy concentrating on something else," he said, his tone one of perfect reason, but Leonidas already knew where he was heading with this.

"A certain woman you mean?" he said.

Ithius nodded.

"Blonde hair, wicked smile, prickly as a porcupine when threatened…"

Leonidas gave a long frustrated sigh.

"She really has managed to get under my skin hasn't she?" he said.

"I think she's managed to get under _everyone's_ skin," Ithius replied, stopping to look Leonidas in the eye. "I'll admit she does make quite the impression. Everyone seems to have almost forgotten about the Persians, what with her around. Even the crowd of my people outside your gates are talking about her, and they only saw her passing through."

"I'm not pining after her, if that's what you think," Leonidas said.

Ithius shook his head in response to that.

"I never said you were," he said. "I actually think it would be insane to even try anything like that with her. She'd probably make you eat your own kneecaps first."

Leonidas tried to suppress the sudden mental image he was getting. It was somewhat less than pleasant.

"All I am saying," Ithius continued, "is that she's got you distracted. She's too unpredictable. You're spending all of your time wondering about her, which way she's going to bend or break next, and not enough keeping an eye on the unfolding situation around you. You can't go into this council meeting angry though. Remember what your father always used to tell us when we were sparring?"

Leonidas nodded, remembering all too well.

"Nothing external to you has any power over you," he said. Ithius nodded and smiled.

"The best fighter is never angry," he replied, another of Leonidas' father's mantras.

"All that's easier said than done when dealing with _her_."

Ithius gave him a questioning look.

"Why _did_ you bring her here?" he asked.

Leonidas' shoulders slumped as he tried to think of an answer.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I think it's just that, for the first time, it suddenly felt like there was someone there who would have my back... who I could trust... I can't explain why."

"You couldn't have trusted me?" Ithius said.

Leonidas turned and looked at him steadily.

"I do trust you," he said. "But I also know you, and have done for years. Your first loyalty is to your people, as is mine. Our friendship means we'll help each other as much as we can, but there are limits to how far we'll ultimately go."

Ithius nodded in understanding.

"But now you think she's betrayed you?" He said.

"I don't know," Leonidas said. "Has she?"

Ithius gave him a long considering look and was opening his mouth to speak, when one of Leonidas' soldiers appeared at the entrance to the courtyard and began running toward them.

"My King!" he shouted, "My King!" His face was streaked with sweat and his chest was heaving beneath his leather armour. Leonidas imagined he had sprinted here through the city.

"Looks like something's not right," Ithius muttered next to him. Leonidas only nodded.

"Greetings soldier," he said as the soldier skidded to a halt in front of him and promptly dropped to one knee. "I'm assuming from the manner of your appearance that you have some sort of dire news for me?"

"I come from the Inner City gates," the Spartan said, breathing heavily between words and obviously still a little winded from his mad dash through the city. "It's the Helots great King."

Leonidas felt, rather than saw, Ithius stiffen at his side.

"What of them?" he asked, feeling his stomach turn. How much worse could things become?

"They have heard word of Ambassador Hutâna's murder," the soldier said, "They are fearful of the Persian's retribution and are demanding to be allowed entrance now. The City Watch are beginning to fear a riot."

Leonidas glanced sideways at Ithius, who let out a long weary sigh.

"Looks like that's my cue," he said.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been receiving a little more feedback on my stories recently, which has really helped with my motivation, and the story is coming along a lot more smoothly as result. I'd like to thank those of you have taken the time to review and comment (especially GorgoStark for your continued correspondence) on these stories of mine so far. I'm glad you are enjoying it, and I sincerely hope you will continue to do so.

CELINANA: A short message for you here as I can't e-mail or PM to you, and this site frowns on people using the review section to answer questions.

These stories should run to a total of four main parts dealing with the main story line set up in part 1 and continued here in part 2. I also have some cursory thoughts about a Part 5 epilogue story that would follow the main storyline and re-introduce Xena and Gabrielle so that we could have a bit of a face off between the three of them. The villain I was considering for this story was... you guessed it correctly... Velaska.

I have no concrete plans for that particular story though, and I may not even end up writing it. It all depends on how long it takes me to complete the first four main stories, and how burned out I am at the end of it. Callisto is a very difficult character to write, and I have struggled a lot in keeping her consistent with the show (still don't think I've got her quite right incidentally, but I don't think I'm _too_ far off). I enjoy writing her, but I may need a break after the first four are done and in the bag. I don't plan to break before then, since I simply have too many good ideas for those stories at the moment and don't want to end up forgetting them all.

Anyway, thank you for you review, and I hope you continue to enjoy the stories!


	11. Chapter Ten: Riot Act

**Chapter Ten: Riot Act**

The Spartans had been hunting her for the last hour or so. After she had escaped over Leonidas' palace's walls, it had not taken Callisto long to realise just how seriously and zealously these people guarded their city, much to her dismay. She had spent most of the last hour ducking in and out of alleys, dodging through quiet streets and even occasionally busy ones, all in a continuing effort to avoid the patrols which seemed to be gradually closing in on her from all sides.

She had figured out their search pattern almost immediately, but the fact that even with this knowledge, she had been unable to evade them proved just how well trained and methodical the Spartans actually were. They had, at first, cast their net wide, splitting the Inner City into rough quarters. When the first patrol had sighted her, the others repositioned, re-quartering a smaller area and closing in again. With each sighting, the area to search had grown narrower and narrower until they had her almost cornered. The most frustrating and disheartening part of it was, she was almost at the city gates, maybe less than three streets away at this point, but the patrols had now managed to get a noose around her neck, and were simply waiting for the opportunity to tighten it.

At this very moment she was crouched behind a cluster of crates at the edge of a busy market place, doing her level best not to be seen. It was hardly the ideal spot to be hiding, or even trying to escape through, but under the circumstances she had little choice. On the opposite side of the square, there was an exit from the market that led out onto a long wide street that, if she remembered correctly, should curve down hill toward the city gates. Maybe if she could just keep her head down, she would be able to use the crowds of people to slip the Spartan net and make it down to the gates and beyond into Helot town.

She watched the milling mass of dark haired shoppers and stall owners going about their daily business fingering her own bright blonde hair morosely as she did so. Who was she kidding? That plan was about as likely to succeed as an attempt to swim a shark infested ocean with a side of raw beef hanging around your neck. Unfortunately, at this point, it was the only plan she had.

The sound of creaking leather armour and the rattle of spears against shields filled the air. With a soft curse, she ducked back further into the shadows cast by the crates as a patrol passed by the mouth of the alleyway in which she now crouched. They did not stop to investigate. Indeed, they were barely even gave the alley a second glance. It appeared they were not actively searching. Instead they just seemed to be circling the market place, eyes moving about warily as they went. Callisto frowned as she realised what exactly it was that they were up to. They were not trying to find her. They already knew she was here, and were simply biding their time, waiting for her to show herself.

Well, again, she did not have much of a choice. If she wanted out of the Inner City, the only way was across this square and through the market. She waited impatiently for the patrol to complete one more circuit, and as they passed by her hiding place for the second time, she stepped out into the crowd, doing her best to move with the clusters of people, in order to keep herself out of view of the guards. She was actually surprised she made it as far as she did, being half way across the market place and just passing by a butcher's stall when she heard a shout from behind her. She turned to see the patrol she had tried to avoid earlier angling toward her and elbowing their way through the crowd.

It did not take people long to realise just who it was the guards had set their sights on, and very quickly a large open circle began to spread out around Callisto, hushed murmurs rising up all around her as it did so. She gave a frustrated grunt, then turned to face the approaching Spartans, affecting her best innocent smile, that still somehow managed to show too many teeth.

"And how may I help you gentlemen today?" she said, stepping closer to the butcher's stall and motioning toward it as if she worked there. "We have the finest prime cuts available in all of Sparta, I'm sure you'll agree."

Suddenly, and without warning, she yanked her sword free from its scabbard across her back and, with a flick of her wrist, whirled it around into a ready stance.

"In fact, maybe I could carve you off a slice?" she said her innocent smile suddenly turning vicious. The Spartans paused for a moment then hefted their spears and began to spread out to surround her.

"Callisto," their commander announced. "You are wanted in connection with Persian Ambassador Hutâna's murder. Please throw down your sword and accompany us to the palace of King Demosthenes for questioning."

Callisto tilted her head slightly.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. I just work here," she said, feigning ignorance. She leaned sideways with her sword outstretched to spear a nearby chunk of meat from the butcher's stand, winking at the owner who did not even protest, his mouth hanging open in slack jawed amazement as he realised exactly who it was standing in front of him.

"Now, back to what I was saying before, we offer only the leanest and most succulent cuts of beef, guaranteed to make your mouth water," she smiled slyly as she lifted the sword up in front of her face to examine the dripping raw meat. "Here, why don't you have a taste?"

Suddenly, she whipped around rapidly, swinging her sword two handed as if it were a club. The thick slab of raw beef sailed from the tip of the blade and struck the lead Spartan wetly across the face, sending him staggering backward in surprise. In the moment's distraction it caused, Callisto span on her heel and ran, barging through the crowd surrounding her as the Spartans gave chase.

"Out of the way or I run you through!" she yelled, and angled right off the main thoroughfare until she was sprinting between a number of smaller stalls selling assorted odds and ends.

"I told you all to move!" She cried as she vaulted straight through a stall that stocked various pottery items, scattering them left and right to the accompanying distinctive crash of shattering earthenware as she went. Behind her the Spartans were already in hot pursuit, creating an even bigger trail of chaos as they shoved, threatened and manhandled their way through the crowd.

She emerged from the stalls and back onto a large pathway that weaved its way through the market and toward the main road that led to the Inner City gates. She could already see a number of soldiers that had moved to close off the exit though, and with the men following close behind her as well, the numbers game was beginning to tilt rapidly against her. There was no way she could make it to the gates now. More soldiers would doubtless be on their way, and she expected that the gates themselves would be on alert and waiting for her.

She ducked left, scanning desperately for another means of escape, and just as she did so, a spear whistled past, embedding itself in the post of a market stall awning just ahead of her. Callisto grinned as a plan suddenly flashed bright and clear in her mind's eye. She glanced back over her shoulder to catch sight of a Spartan with a frustrated look on his face, clearly angry he had missed his target.

Callisto threw him a jaunty salute, and smiled even wider as the look of frustration turned to one of outright fury. Without pause, she span back and jumped up toward the spear. Her long fingers snared it with a smooth, practiced ease, and she gripped tightly as she swung hard, using her momentum to launch herself up and through the air onto the top of the next market stall in the row. She was about to turn and laugh at the pursuing Spartans when a second spear whistled just over head and instead thought better of it.

She took off at a hard sprint, leaping from the roof of one stall to the next as she went, while the Spartans followed below her, shouting up threats in an attempt to get her to stop. She ignored them all, and as she reached the edge of the market place she sped up, her legs eating the distance between her and a nearby flat roofed building that marked the edge of the square. She jumped again, sailing cleanly through the air, but even then only just clearing the distance between the stall and the building. As she hit the dry sandstone roof, she tucked and rolled, her boots skidding in the dust as she surged back to her feet and darted across to the opposite side.

Below her was another empty alleyway. The sounds of the Spartans' shouts from the market place were growing louder. Clearly, their knowledge of the city streets was superior to her own. They already knew where her path would take her, and were now charging to head her off. The next nearest rooftop was too far a gap for her to jump, and so, with a grunt of frustration, she dropped down into the alley, landing in a graceful crouch with arms outstretched as if she were a bird alighting on its perch. She straightened, her head whipping left down the alley as she heard the shouted voices still growing louder. There was no more time. She had to get out of sight before they found her, but where else was there to go?

With no other options remaining, she turned right, and headed off in the opposite direction to the shouted voices, her feet pounding the stone, and her scabbard swinging at her back. Just as she reached the end of the alley, she heard a triumphant shout as the Spartans entered it behind her, catching only a fleeting glimpse of her disappearing around the corner, but redoubling their efforts to reach her now they had found her trail again.

Callisto ran as fast and hard as she could, twisting this way and that through the streets but never seemingly able to shake her pursuers. Then, as she approached the end of one short street, a wagon pulled across the exit, blocking her path and causing her to skid to a halt on the dry cobblestones, dirt grinding beneath her boots as she did so. She let out a frustrated scream. How could this be! She had been a warlord feared across the length and breadth of Greece, then she had been an immortal, and ultimately a GOD! How was it that now the Fates saw fit to end her by throwing some merchant and his cart load of ale into her path!?

She stalked angrily over to the driver's seat and was about to clamber up onto the wagon, all ready to threaten the man's life, when a familiar face leaned out to look down at her.

"Fancy seeing you here," Ithius said, not actually sounding in the least bit surprised to see her at all.

"You!?" Callisto said, tying and failing to hide her surprise. "Leonidas sent _you_ to bring me back in?" she snapped, suddenly feeling the anger inside her grow sharp and keen. "What's the matter? Is he afraid to fight his own battles now?"

Ithius rolled his eyes at her.

"For once in your life, Callisto, do yourself a favour and shut your mouth. Now, would you just hurry up and get in the back. I may be able to get you out of here, and in one piece too, but only if you do exactly what I tell you."

Callisto frowned at him confused,

"I don't..." she began, but Ithius glanced up hurriedly at the sound of shouts from the next street over.

"Times wasting," he said looking back to her. "Now, in or out?"

Callisto gave an exasperated sigh.

"Not really much of a choice is there," she said, and reached up to grip the rear of the wagon, vaulting over it and in amongst the various barrels of ale that were still crammed in there. Obviously, Ithius had not had chance to unload the wagon since the night before.

With a click of his tongue, and a flick of the reins, he urged the wagon into motion again, the heavy set horses straining against their bits. As he did so, he tossed her a dirty looking grey robe with a heavy hood from where it had been lying under his seat.

"Put this on," he said.

Callisto caught the robe neatly, her nose wrinkling as a filthy odour suddenly assaulted it.

"It smells like someone pissed on it," she said.

"Someone did," Ithius replied, "but you'll have to put it on if you want to get out of here. And it would help immeasurably if you pretend you're drunk."

"I've never been drunk," Callisto replied.

Ithius rolled his eyes again.

"Do you have to take issue with everyone and everything?"

Callisto shrugged as she clambered onto the driver's seat beside him, tugging the robe on despite its stench. She pulled her long hair back, tying a knot in it so that it hung in a shaggy ponytail and would be easier to hide beneath the hood.

"Not really," she said. "I just enjoy it."

Behind them, the Spartans hurried out into the street, eyes searching desperately for her but seeing only the disappearing wagon. Callisto hurriedly drew the hood up before anyone could catch sight of her blonde hair.

"Halt!" called one of the Spartans, and Callisto felt her breath catch in her throat as Ithius drew the wagon to a stop.

"What are you doing!?" she hissed at him. "They'll recognise me for certain!"

"I know what I'm doing," Ithius whispered back. "Just trust me."

"I've been having a hard time doing that recently," she snapped, thinking of Leonidas.

"Or ever," Ithius shot back. "Now be quiet and pretend you're drunk like I told you too!"

Callisto scowled at him but wracked her brains anyway, trying desperately to think of the drunks she had known in her life. She had known more than a few to be honest. Bandits and roving warriors were hardly known for their sobriety, but the one's she truly remembered best were the men who her father had drunk with at the inn in Cirra. Every other night he had gone there to unwind after a hard day's toil in the fields outside the village. He and the other men who had gone there used to sing many a drinking song throughout the night. At first they had been raucous and bawdy, but as the night grew long and the stars came out, they had gradually become slower, deeper and more mournful. She had vague memories of a particular song. It had been a strange song, she recalled, its tone low and haunting. It had hung on the air and in her dreams long after they had all retired for the night. She tried to remember the words now and was surprised when she actually could.

_"As long as you live, shine,  
Let nothing grieve you beyond measure.  
For your life is short,  
and time will claim its toll." _

She felt her throat ache and she sniffed slightly as she began to recite it, memories of her family drifting poisonously at the back of her mind. As she mumbled it to herself, she kept her voice deep and throaty so as to sound more masculine, but at the same time deliberately tripping over the words so that she would often have to repeat lines.

Next to her, she caught Ithius shooting her a strange look out of the corner of his eye, but before she could turn to confront him, a thick set Spartan, with a neck as wide as his square cut jaw, stepped past her to stand beside Ithius. He wore a red cape, buckled to his armour with Leonidas' roaring lion crest. She thought she caught him giving her a suspicious look for a moment, and hung her head lower in response, pretending as if she were half asleep and slowly heading the rest of the way into full blown alcoholic oblivion, all the while making sure the hood completely obscured her face. To see beneath it now, he would have to stand next to her and crane his neck.

"May I ask what your business is?" The Spartan said as he stepped up to Ithius, then blanched visibly as he caught sight of the former Helot's face for the first time. Clearly Ithius carried some weight among Leonidas' Spartans.

"I am on the business of your King, soldier," Ithius said, sounding faintly amused. "Obviously, you were not informed."

"I do apologise," the Spartan said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Had I realised it was you... it's just that, well, we were pursuing that warlord, Callisto, and your cart..."

Ithius held up a hand.

"I understand completely," he said. "There is no need to apologise. We all have our responsibilities, our duties. You were just doing yours. Now, if you do not mind, I must be about mine."

"Of course," the Spartan nodded, and waved them on, still looking slightly askance at Callisto but obviously unwilling to challenge Ithius. "You have my leave to go."

"My thanks," Ithius said with a patient nod, then jerked the wagon back into lurching motion with a flick of the reins in his hands.

Callisto sang a little louder as they lurched away from the soldiers, mainly in an attempt to keep herself from laughing out loud at how easy that had been.

"I guess it pays to be friends with a king," she said gleefully once they were out of earshot, and the Spartans had turned and set off back in the opposite direction.

"It pays to be _of use_ to a king," Ithius replied. "My friendship with Leonidas has nothing to do with it."

"Sure it doesn't," Callisto mocked.

"He has his loyalties, and I have mine," Ithius protested.

Callisto chuckled nastily.

"Something amuses you?" Ithius said, glancing at her as they continued along the street.

"Just that you like to make this big song and dance about how you were once a slave," Callisto smiled, "but you were hardly working for no wages down a mine shaft somewhere were you."

"No," Ithius replied flatly. "Instead I spent my life fighting for a city that gave me no choice but to do so..."

"...while being bosom buddies with that city's king." Callisto shot back. "Face it Ithius, no regular Helot could have just waved those guards on like that."

"And your point is...?" Ithius said, his voice surprisingly patient. By this point in a conversation, Callisto was used to having people try to kill her, or, at the very least, wallop her with a staff. She shrugged again.

"None really," she said. "I just wanted to tweak your nose a little."

"Because you couldn't defeat me at Leonidas' palace?" Ithius said curiously.

Callisto fell silent, uncertain of how to respond. Was he right? Did she just want to get back at him for showing her up? If that were true, why did it even matter so much to her? She shook her head, dispelling the line of thought all together. She had never cared what people thought of her before and she wasn't about to start now.

The wagon turned a corner, and Callisto glanced up briefly to see the gate some distance away but now clearly in view. It stood open with at least fifty Spartan soldiers milling about. Those of the soldiers that wore capes, were wearing a mixture of red and blue that marked them as both Leonidas and Demosthenes' men. Beyond them was an enormous crowd of people, hundreds of them in fact, all clustered tightly together in the street, the atmosphere around them a curious and tense mix of fear and anger. She had felt similar before, many times in fact, and when she had, it had usually been directed at her. A small number of the crowd had actually stepped out ahead of the rest and a few even appeared to be speaking animatedly with a Spartan dressed in the blue cape of Demosthenes.

"Looks like things might turn ugly down there," she said.

"Can you blame them?" Ithius replied. "With the Persians at our doorstep, they just want to be allowed some small degree of protection."

Callisto dropped her head again so as to obscure her features beneath the grey robe's hood. She could not figure Ithius out, and that bothered her immensely. What was he really about and who did he truly serve? She was usually so good at this, but this time the answers were elusive, and it bothered her immensely.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked suddenly.

"Because I've been watching you," Ithius replied without hesitation.

"I know that you've been thinking the same thing as me," he continued, gesturing out toward the crowd of Helots and Spartans at the gates. "Something isn't right about all of this. It's all too perfectly arrayed against us, like this whole situation is being staged for someone else's benefit. I've had my suspicions for a while now, but Hutâna's murder decided me on it. Someone is playing us off against one another. Someone wants a war, and I don't know who."

He turned to fix her with a steady gaze.

"I need your help, Callisto. Sparta may not be the perfect home, but it _is_ my home nevertheless. I would not see it harmed, from without or from within."

"You don't think I murdered the Persian do you?" she said, with a look of honest surprise.

Ithius shook his head.

"No I don't. You had no reason to, and after seeing you yesterday in the council chambers and again this morning with Leonidas..." he paused, searching for the right words.

"...I think you're trying to help," he said finally. "In your own unconventional way."

"Tell that to Leonidas and the others," Callisto shot back, her voice carrying a touch of bitterness.

Ithius fixed her with long level stare.

"You didn't strike me as the kind of person that would even care about that," he said.

Callisto said nothing, instead clasping her hands together tightly and staring down at them.

"Don't judge him too harshly," Ithius continued eventually. "He has the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. I've known him for years, and while he's hardly infallible, his first instincts about people are usually good ones."

A slight smile lit at the corners of his mouth.

"If it means anything, I think he was right to trust you,"

"Ha!" Callisto barked out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "He just saw me as a way to throw the Persians off balance, and all of it because of my history with Xena. If she'd been here, he would have chosen her instead, and I doubt anyone would have ever accused the great 'Warrior Princess' of murder, even when it's her stock-in-trade!"

"You may be right about that," Ithius admitted. "But if you truly do feel that way, it begs the question, why did you even agree to help in the first place?"

Callisto paused. She could hardly answer with 'because a god promised me peace in paradise'. And besides, was that even the reason? The more she thought about it, the more she was beginning to doubt that that was even the truth. Why was she even here? Was she really trying to outdo the woman who had caused her so much misery? Or was it something else?

"It seemed worthwhile," was all she could manage.

Ithius gave her a sideways glance.

"That seems a little weak, especially coming from you," he said. Callisto turned a hard stare on him from beneath the edge of her hood.

"You think you know me?" she spat.

"Well enough to beat you in a fight at least, yes," Ithius said, and when he spoke again his voice carried a note of reflection, as if he were remembering words spoken to him a long time ago. "Know your enemies, and know yourself, and you will never face defeat, not even in a hundred battles."

"Oooh, wisdom!" Callisto sneered. "Where did you come up with that little pearl? Fish it out of an oyster barrel at winter solstice?"

"Just something Leonidas' father used to tell us," Ithius replied, apparently unfazed by her taunting.

"Touching," she said dismissively and leaned back in the seat as the gates drew nearer, affecting a slovenly slouch that she hoped made her appear inebriated.

"So, what? You think I'm an enemy then?"

"I've already told you, no," Ithius said.

Placing the reins in one hand, he reached and scratched thoughtfully at the side of his nose.

"You know, you never answered my question properly before," he said. "Why couldn't you beat me at the palace?"

"This again? I don't know, let me see," Callisto said in mock ponderousness. She tapped at her chin thoughtfully. "Could it be that I didn't _know_ you well enough?" Her tone was jeering and derisive.

Ithius only shook his head.

"You don't know _yourself_," he replied. "All that anger and fury inside you, tugging you this way and that. There's no focus in you, Callisto. That's why you couldn't beat me. It's why you don't even know what you're doing here."

He motioned expansively at Sparta all around them and clicked his tongue at the horses as they clattered along the street.

"What is it that you really want? Do you even know? Or do you just plan to keep raging at the world until someone, somewhere finally manages to put you out of your misery for good?"

"I know exactly what I want!" Callisto snapped at him in irritation. "I want it to stop! All of it! The pain, the memories, I want it all gone!"

"You want peace?" Ithius said.

"If that's what you want to call it, then yes!"

The former Helot shook his head again, almost pityingly this time.

"And you wonder why you can't find it," he said, more to himself than to her but Callisto scowled at him anyway.

"Do you even know what it means?" he asked, this time directly to her.

Callisto opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she snapped it smartly shut and sat in silence, feeling her frustration boiling just beneath the surface. Something about his words reminded her of the previous night and her conversation with Pelion in the banquet hall.

"What do you know about the Followers?" she asked suddenly, trying to change the subject to something a little less close to home. Ithius only cocked an eyebrow at her as if to say 'I know what you're doing' but only shrugged in response.

"I have to admit, not much," he said. "They've always been lurking around the city in some form or other, but recently they've been growing in popularity. A lot people in Helot town are turning to them. Their claims that the Olympians have abandoned us, betrayed us even, have struck quite a chord. They've even took over one of the temples to Artemis as their own."

"When?" Callisto asked, her suspicion building.

"About two weeks ago," Ithius said. "A little after that old priest Pelion arrived." He frowned at her curiously.

"Why do you ask anyway?"

"You said you thought something was wrong in this city," she said. "I'm inclined to agree, and I think they might be it."

Ithius' frown deepened.

"Any reason why?" he said.

"A couple of their members tried to kill Monocles on the road here," Callisto replied.

"Let me guess," Ithius said. "They came down with a sudden terminal case of steel to the gut before you could question them?"

Callisto grinned at him from her slouched position.

"It's like you can read my mind," she said, then shrugged. "Monocles seems fairly important to Leonidas' scheme to gain control of the city from the Ephors. If the Followers are out to kill him, it suggests that they're involved somehow."

Ithius tapped a finger thoughtfully against the reins in his grip.

"The question is, why would they be involved?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking you about them would I," Callisto replied sharply.

"Why didn't you tell Leonidas any of this?"

"Not enough information to go on," she said. "And I have no idea if I'm even right."

Ithius turned away from her, gazing thoughtfully into the middle distance as they rumbled up to the gate. Callisto's eyes widened when she realised they were heading straight for the Spartans and Helots engaged in conversation.

"This stunt again!?" she hissed at him. "You're starting to push our luck!"

"Then if you don't want to push it any further, I suggest you keep your head down, and sing that depressing song of yours again," Ithius replied. "I came here with a job to do and I intend to do it."

Callisto flashed him a venomous look, but was forced to quickly duck her head as a Spartan soldier dressed in the blue cape that marked him as one of Demosthenes' men stepped up to the wagon. Callisto began to swing her head slowly from side to side, adopting the same slurred tone as earlier as he began to mutter the old drinking song back to herself again.

"Ithius," the soldier nodded, giving Callisto only a cursory glance. "Captain Sentos sent word you were on your way to help."

"And here I am, as promised" Ithius replied, "What's the situation?"

"Your friends over there are demanding entrance into the Inner City. We've already explained to him that with the murder last night, and this Callisto woman on the loose, the Inner City is closed to anyone not on official Spartan business."

"I see," said Ithius nodding and casting a sideways glance at Callisto. She sank deeper into her slouch, muttering in her best drunken slur."And how did you inform them of this?"

"We ordered them to turn back and return to their homes on the authority of the Council of Ephors," the Spartan replied with a confused frown. "Those who didn't were threatened with arrest and imprisonment until their masters came to claim them. Was there any other way we were supposed to address then?"

Ithius gave a long deep sigh.

"You were supposed to try a little tact... maybe even a touch of diplomacy, but I suppose that's more than can be expected from Spartan soldiers."

The Spartan bristled notably at that and glared at Ithius from under the rim of his helmet.

"You think you're something special, don't you Helot..." he began, but was stopped short when Ithius turned to glare at him, his eyes as cold as frosted steel.

"I will remind you that, at this moment, you are speaking to a free citizen of Sparta," Ithius hissed, "and I will be treated with the same respect you would show to any other. Are we clear on this?"

The Spartan glared back at him, his eyes equally hard and unwavering, but he only nodded slightly in response.

"Good then," Ithius said and motioned to the crowd of Spartans before them. "Now step aside. I must speak to my people."

The Spartan turned and barked an order to his men, who quickly parted as Ithius' wagon began rumbling forward again. It took them less than a minute to reach the small stretch of empty space between the even ranks of Spartan soldiers and the unruly mob beyond. The Helots stirred uneasily as they caught sight of Ithius, and Callisto could here low mutterings and whispers throughout the assembled crowd. As they rumbled to a stop, Ithius clambered to his feet, the added height afforded him by his wagon making him tower over the mass of people around him. Callisto did her best to appear nondescript but it was far from easy with Ithius grandstanding right beside her.

"My friends!" he announced loudly over the general hubbub. The massive crowd of Helots fell silent as he spoke, and Callisto felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of her stomach as all eyes focused on them. Clearly, Ithius had never heard the word inconspicuous before.

"I am here before you now to ask why you have taken it upon yourselves to gather in this manner here today..."

As he spoke, a dissatisfied wave of jeers and muttered frustrations went up from the crowd. Callisto even thought she glimpsed one or two flashes of steel in the midday sun amongst the crowd. Some of these people were armed.

"...only want protection..." she heard among the voices from the crowd. "...Served at Marathon..." was another, along with "...Persians will kill us all!..." A dozen or more cries continued as she sat, her fingers flexing as she wished she could reach for her sword. All around them, she could feel the hostility rising, but the robes Ithius had given her concealed her blade, and to go for it now would reveal her identity to everyone around them.

"I understand your concerns," Ithius answered the myriad voices. "Indeed, I share them! But today we have been given an opportunity like no other! I have come here to bring you an offer; one proffered to us by gracious King Leonidas himself."

A swell of jeers rose up from the crowd at that, like an angry wave upon the ocean that came sweeping in toward Ithius. To his credit, he held his ground against it, his back remaining straight, his voice unwavering as he spoke again.

"Good King Leonidas has agreed to offer us freedom!" he called out loudly, and the jeering immediately fell silent. Callisto guessed a good half the crowd looked surprised while the other half appeared confused, but to her great surprise, none looked particularly happy.

"And on what condition would this freedom be granted?" called a voice from the crowd.

"Leonidas asks only that we fight with him against the Persians!" Ithius replied loudly. The Helots all but exploded at that, their voices raised in uniform protest, while behind her, Callisto thought she noticed one or two of Demosthenes' men shifting uncomfortably at that particular announcement. Ithius simply stood, calm and still as he waited for his people's rage to vent itself.

"I understand your anger," he said as the crowd finally began to fall silent. "Why should we, who have served faithfully for countless generations, continue to spill our blood on the altar of Spartan freedom, while never being granted our own? Have we not already lost countless sons and daughters to Spartan wars?Have we not already paid for our freedom, a dozen times over, in Helot lives?"

The crowd erupted in agreement at that last sentiment, and Callisto shifted slightly in her seat. The tension in the air was reaching fever pitch, and at her back she could hear the Spartans flexing, their leather armour creaking as they began to raise shields and ready spears. Things were beginning to get dangerously close to a full scale riot!

"But I say to you now, how many more generations will we lose should we not defend this city?" Ithius pressed on determinedly over the noise of the Helots. Slowly they began to fall silent again as he continued to speak. "Sparta is our home and the Persians stand at our door."

He paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the assembled Spartans, as if appealing to them as well.

"Soon they will be through it, and when they come, they will not care to ask about status or position, about Spartan or Helot, and they certainly will not care for the generations lost to a hundred unremembered wars. They will care only for conquest, to end our way of life, so that they may supplant it with their own! Leonidas offers freedom to all those of you willing to take up arms and fight to defend it!"

His voice ended in a triumphant shout, but to Callisto's surprise, the Helots only responded by regarding Ithius quietly.

"And what of those who do no wish to fight?" came a voice from somewhere far back in the crowd. "What will become of us?"

"I do not ask you to make your minds up now," Ithius replied. "I only ask that you consider the opportunity laid before us. Never before have so many of us been offered such clemency!"

"Us!?" came another voice. "How long has it been since you were one of us!?"

Callisto caught a number of Helots nodding in agreement with that, but Ithius pushed on regardless, gesturing to the gates he now stood beneath.

"But if we do not help now, if we show our loyalty as being only to ourselves and not to the greater good of this land we call our home, while other better men fight and die to protect it, then are we truly deserving of the freedom being offered to us?"

The Helots fell silent, and for long moments all around the gate was stillness. Callisto remained slumped in her seat, keeping her breathing even and low as she listening for something, anything even, that would break the apparent deadlock. Then, slowly, the front row of Helots began to turn away from the gates. As the crowd began to fan out and disperse, she glanced up at Ithius to see his shoulders visibly slump, the tension draining out of him as if he were a deflating wine skin. He breathed a long sigh of relief and was about to slump back down into his seat when a voice rang out strong and clear in the quiet. It was the voice of the Spartan who had come to them when they had first arrived at the gate.

"That's right!" he snarled. "Go! Skulk of back to your hovels! Leave it to the real men to fight and die on your behalf!"

Callisto closed her eyes and let out a low, exasperated groan. She knew what was coming next. The first stone sailed out of the crowd of Helots and bounced harmlessly off a broad Spartan shield with a ringing echo of struck bronze.

"SPARTANS!" came a loud commanding voice from somewhere among the Spartan ranks. "LOCK SHIELDS!"

Callisto stifled another groan at the raucous clatter of fifty or more bronze shields being lifted into a defensive position sounded behind her. So far her inconspicuous escape was not exactly going to plan.

"Wait..." Ithius called out, but the rest of his words were lost among the hail of stones tjat was beginning to all about them.

"Ithius," Callisto said, her voice harsh as a particularly large rock rebounded off the wagon next to her. "I think either you should do something, or we should get out of here. Pelted to death with stones is not how I envisaged my life ending."

"On my command, ADVANCE!" she heard the same voice as earlier order the men at their back.

She could feel the wagon tremble slightly as the Spartans began to move forward in perfect lockstep, closing the gap between themselves and the stone throwing Helots.

Ithius had already jumped down from the wagon and had turned to face the advancing Spartans, backing away from them toward the crowd of Helots, as over fifty spears pointed at him.

"Please!" he began. "Stop this!"

But it was already too late.

One of the Helots jumped forward, a straight kitchen knife flashing in the sunlight as he made for the Spartan ranks.

"For Soriacles!" he shouted, but before he was even within arms reach, a Spartan spear took him hard between the ribs.

For a moment all fell deathly silent as both sides stared at the man lying dead in the dirt trail that ran up to the city gates. Then, with painstaking deliberateness, a number of his fellows began to step forward, hefting whatever they carried that passed for weapons. Ithius himself already had his sword in his hands, bringing it up in a wary guard as he continued to back away from the advancing Spartan line.

Callisto could feel the adrenaline surging inside her. This would be a massacre. She had to do something. She could not just sit by and watch. The thought actually gave her pause. Did she really care what happened to these people? Memories of her time in Penthos came to her, and how she had finally decided to stand for something beyond revenge. This was the same choice, right here and now.

She made it an instant.

With a fierce cry, she leaped down from the wagon hurriedly, and began to run to Ithius' side, starting to remove the robe as she she went so that she would have more freedom of movement when the time for battle came, and, more importantly, that she would more easily be able to reach for her sword. Before she had even gone two steps though, Ithius turned to look at her and shook his head firmly.

She skidded to a stop and nodded gravely, already understanding exactly what he wanted of her. This was not her fight. She had to find out what was really going on here, the truth behind the ever escalating tension in the city. If she could find that out, then maybe she could stop all this before things became even worse.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she began to back away toward the Helots. She had to find a way out of here, but where then would she go? How was she supposed to find out the truth? She did not even have the faintest...

A slow smile began to spread across her face. She remembered now. All too well in fact.

"The temple of Artemis," she muttered to herself, then glanced up at the oncoming Spartans. They were moving at a faster pace now, rhythmically drumming their spears against their heavy bronze shields as they marched, the pounding beat filling the air and causing the armed members of the Helot crowd to bunch tightly together, clutching grimly to whatever weapons they possessed.

Around that core group though, the relentless pounding of the Spartan advance was already shaking the nerve of the rest of the Helots and a ripple of unease was beginning to move through them. The majority were not trained soldiers and the idea of facing a disciplined Spartan Phalanx was more than they could stand. Already half the Helots present were beginning to turn and head away from the tight knit group that Ithius had now joined with.

"Brace yourselves men!" she heard him say as the Spartans neared them. Suddenly two of the Helots' nerves broke, and they turned to run. The moment's weakness was all the Spartans required and spears lashed out, dropping both men instantly, their tips staining crimson as they withdrew.

It was more than the Helots could withstand. With a fierce cry, Ithius and his men threw themselves at the fifty man Phalanx before them, while all around them, the street erupted into chaos as those Helots not fighting tried desperately to flee.

Callisto did her best to move with the crowd, slipping between them as silently as she could manage while all about her men and women cried out in panic. She felt someone jostle her, and purely by reflex, her elbow took the stranger in the throat, causing them to fall back, choking hard as she continued to slink through the now feral crowd that surrounded her. Her progress was slow but steady, and soon she was clear of the panicked mob and moving quickly down the street, the gates receding in the distance. She had to find this temple the Followers had taken control of. Something told her that if there truly were answers to be had in Sparta, that was where she would find them.

She pulled the heavy robes she wore tighter around her as she pushed through a set of clean linen sheets hanging on a laundry line and into a side street well out of sight of the chaos behind her.

Back by the gates, the sounds of dead and dying Helots echoed on the midday wind as the Spartans went to work.

Callisto didn't so much as look back.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A slow update this time, but mainly because this chapter actually proved to be the hardest one I've had to write so far. The climactic scene was an absolute bugger to write, as was Callisto's discussion with Ithius. I'm still not entirely happy it, but it's time to move on and not dwell too much here. Continued thanks go out to those of you who are reading the stories and providing feedback. Thank you to Slytherin Studios, Shadowwriter 01 and Celianana for your continued reviews and GorgoStark for all her wonderful words of encouragement. This story is for you guys now, and for anyone else out there taking the time to enjoy it. I sincerely hope you all enjoy this latest chapter... things are starting to go from bad to worse now.

EDIT: Some added Callisto pov stuff and slightly altered dialogue to make for smoother, more cohesive reading.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Unnatural Shadows

**Chapter Eleven: Unnatural Shadows**

"...demand your immediate and unconditional surrender!" The Persian captain was ranting loudly at the center of the council chamber floor.

Leonidas sat slumped in his throne, his hand massaging his forehead, and wishing he could just string the man up from the city walls to end his ceaseless prattling.

The entire Persian delegation was standing close to the entrance of the council chambers, with only the captain taking to the floor. Around the stands, a moderate crowd had gathered, far fewer than had been present at yesterday's meeting, but that was most likely due to the state of lock-down in which the Inner City had been placed. Desperate to recapture Callisto in the hope of somehow appeasing their Persian 'guests', the Ephors had closed off the entire Inner City, a decision that had only exacerbated the tensions between the Helots and Spartans at the main gates.

Leonidas glanced up, giving Demosthenes an imploring look. The other king simply shrugged, as powerless as Leonidas to affect something that was, to all intents and purposes, an Ephore affair.

"We understand your frustrations," Nestus began, his voice even and soothing, "but surely there is point of negotiation we can..."

"Negotiations!" the captain interrupted. "NEGOTIATIONS! Our forces out number yours a hundred times over, yet since coming here, we have been gravely affronted at every turn, and now you attempt to aid the killer of our ambassador in her escape!"

He laughed bitterly.

"No," he continued shaking his head. "I do not think we shall be negotiating today."

Demosthenes sat up right at that, his eyes blazing angrily.

"You expect us to just hand over everything to you and your 'god' king then? Throw down our spears and our dignity without so much as a word of terms?"

The captain cast him a cold, disdainful glance.

"Perhaps if you were to give us the woman..."

"We do not have her," Demosthenes replied sharply.

"And _if_ you were to find her," the captain said, his voice as smooth and hard as marble, "would you make a gift of her to us?"

Demosthenes and Nestus both shot glances at Leonidas, who only shook his head in return. He did not know what to think about Callisto. Since the practice yard, his temper had cooled somewhat, leaving only a sense of confusion in its wake. Had she killed Hutâna? He could not be certain either way, and there was still the matter of the prophecy to contend with. Whether she had done the deed or not, he had not intention whatsoever of handing her over to the Persians.

"I've already told you, no," he said quietly. "She is a free woman and a guest of this city, not some slave to be traded like cattle in a market place."

"You see!" the captain crowed. "What point is there in even attempting negotiation, when you cannot even reach an agreement amongst yourselves?"

Nestus fixed Leonidas with a furious stare for a moment before turning back to face the Persian captain.

"I assure you, he does not speak for all of Sparta," he said from between gritted teeth.

"Then why is he permitted to speak at all?" The Persian shot back. "He does nothing but offend with every breath he takes."

Leonidas began to open his mouth to protest when suddenly the doors to the council chamber flew open, and heavy set soldier dressed in the garb of one Demosthenes' men came stalking in. He had his helmet tucked beneath his arm, and a deep gash above his eyebrow streamed blood down the side of his face. Nevertheless, like a true Spartan, he did not let his injury hinder him in the slightest.

He crossed the chamber hurriedly, but with poise, ignoring the Persians and the bystanders above him, pausing to bow only briefly to the Ephors before finally dropping to one knee before Demosthenes. Leonidas gave Demosthenes a quizzical look, to which Demosthenes only shrugged in response.

"The council is currently in session Gracus," Demosthenes said to the man kneeling patiently before him, and giving an apologetic look to the Ephors as he did so. "I take it you have urgent news to report, or else you would not have interrupted us, am I right?"

Leonidas leaned forward, a dark sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gracus was injured, which meant he had seen some kind of battle. The Persians could not already be here, which left him with two possibilities. Either he had faced Callisto, which Leonidas doubted he would have actually survived had he done so, or...

"I do," Gracus replied to Demosthenes with the slightest of nods. "My Kings, honoured Ephors, the Helots have assaulted the gates of the Inner City."

He paused as a quiet murmur ran through the stands at his announcement. Nearby, Nestus and the other Ephors visibly paled at the news. Leonidas himself was hardly surprised, but he still felt like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. This was something that he had feared might come, but that he had still secretly hoped never would. Well, now he knew what hoping got you.

"Go on," Demosthenes said, his voice grim and hard.

"Ithius led the assault," Gracus said, causing Leonidas to stiffen in his seat as he felt Demosthenes fix him with a stoney glare.

"That can't be," he said, not immediately realising how loudly he had spoken. "Ithius would never..."

"It was he who gave me the wound you see," Gracus said, never lifting his head, but his voice carried a hint of smugness as he spoke.

"You're lucky that's all he gave you," Leonidas muttered to himself.

"What happened next?" Demosthenes pushed.

"We successfully defended the gate, and drove Ithius and his men back into the Outer City where we believe they have since gone to ground. We have had resports of sporadic violence throughout Helot Town since the outbreak of hostilities at the gates. In response, all patrols have been ordered back to the walls, and we have set guards at any and all entrances to the Inner City. The gates have been sealed and we now await further orders."

Leonidas rose from his throne as soon as Gracus had finished speaking, and turned to address the seated Ephors.

"I request the honoured Ephor's leave to contact Ithius and try to resolve this situation peacefully and without further bloodshed," he said. "Ithius has been like a brother to me since I was a child. I believe he can be reasoned with and..." his voice trailed off as Nestus fixed him with a steady glare.

"We are well aware of your relationship with Ithius," Nestus said. "Our permission to mobilise your forces is not granted."

"But I can help..." Leonidas began to protest.

"You have _helped_ quite enough!" Nestus snapped. "Now be seated."

Leonidas sank miserably back into his seat. How was it all going so wrong!? Just yesterday he had had a plan all worked out; a plan that would have seen them all safely through the rocky waters in which they had found themselves. Now though, he snorted bitterly to himself, now he could not even spy the dry land. He felt all lost at sea, with no map or compass to guide him home.

"Demosthenes," he heard Nestus say. "You will mobilise your men as you see fit to contain this sudden insurrection. You permitted to use any and all means necessary to do so."

Demosthenes nodded.

"As you say honoured Ephors," he said, not even looking at Leonidas.

"Our apologies for this," Nestus said, turning back to face the Persians. "These events are most unexpected and unfortunate, but we hope they will not tarnish our discussions of..."

The Persian captain shook his head almost immediately.

"There really is nothing more to be discussed," he said flatly. "Your people have insulted us beyond measure, you shield an enemy of Persia from the rightful justice she must face, and now we see that you cannot even control your own slaves! We will be leaving your city tonight, and carrying word of all that has happened to our King. I would suggest you pray that your own gods have mercy on you, because our God King most certainly will not."

With that the captain span on his heel, the sword at his hip rattling loudly as he began to march back to the other Persians nearby. Nestus cast a furious glance at Leonidas, then looked briefly to the other Ephors. Each one nodded in turn, causing the old man to let out a long, weary sigh.

"Wait!" he called loudly.

The Persian captain drew to a halt almost immediately, his boots scraping against the stone.

"I am assuming you have had a change of heart?" he said.

"If we were to surrender to you..."

"Nestus, no!" Leonidas cried out, unable to believe what he was hearing, but Nestus only held up his hand, a traditional gesture for silence. Leonidas snapped his mouth shut and sat in stone faced silence. Opposite him, Demosthenes looked equally stunned, his hands grasping the arms of his throne in a furious white knuckle grip.

"...If we were to surrender to you," Nestus continued evenly as if the interruption had never happened, "what would your King Xerxes offer in return?"

The captain smiled triumphantly.

"Unfortunately, I am not the Ambassador Hutâna. It was he who was granted the authority to speak on King Xerxes' behalf. Such a thing is not within my power, but, if you were to lay down your arms voluntarily, and allow us passage through your lands unmolested, the great God King _may _grant you clemency and forgive your previous transgressions against him."

Nestus clambered from the bench upon which he and the four other Ephors were sitting, then slowly began to make his way across the council floor until he was standing before the Persian captain. The man was a touch shorter than Nestus, which caused him to straighten so that he could at least be somewhat on the same eye line as the old Ephor.

Suddenly, Nestus had a dagger in his hand. It was a ceremonial blade, small but sharp, and meant for sacrificing animals at the temples dotted throughout the city. The blade flashed in dim evening sunlight filtering in from the council chamber windows as Nestus held it up in front of the Persian's face.

The captain suddenly looked uneasy, and his hand began to move toward his sword, the other Persian guards following suit. Then, without warning, Nestus dropped to one knee, head bowed and the dagger held above his head across the palms of his hands in a gesture of open supplication. The Persian captain stood for a moment, wide eyed and seemingly unsure of what was expected of him

"I offer you the complete surrender of Sparta," Nestus said.

Leonidas felt sick to his stomach. How could they do this!? How could they just throw themselves down at the mercy of the Persians with so little pride!?

The captain reached out, his hand wavering uncertainly over the dagger for a moment, almost as if he did not truly believe what was happening, then with sudden, snake-like quickness, he whipped it from Nestus' grasp, life he expected the offer to be withdrawn at any moment.

"We accept," he said, his mouth splitting in a crooked, satisfied smile.

Leonidas stomach lurched horribly. He could stand no more of this shameful display. He was on his feet in an instant, so quick in fact that the Persian captain visibly started.

"I do not!" he said, his voice ringing clear and defiant across the council chamber. He stepped down from his throne and began to advance purposefully across the council chamber toward Nestus and the Persian captain, his heart pounding while the blood thundered in his ears. Was he really about to do this? With great effort, he willed his feet forward, one step after another as he strode as confidently as he could manage up to the two men. Behind him, he could hear his men beginning to descend from the stands as they followed him out onto the council floor. He had never felt more proud to have them at his back.

"What madness is this?" said the Persian, his voice incredulous as he shot a confused look at Nestus.

"I would like an answer to that question as well," the old Ephor replied, straightening from his kneeling position to regard Leonidas with a look of unabashed outrage.

"I do not, no, cannot, surrender," Leonidas said, drawing to a stop less than a meter from the Persian captain.

"It is too late. Your city has already surrendered Spartan, and now we have an accord," the captain hissed dangerously. "Would you threaten the peace we have just brokered?"

"Peace!?" Leonidas laughed. "Never in all my life have I been taught that surrender is the same as peace. Here in this city, the Ephors may decide our laws and we Kings may lead armies to war, but every man is responsible for his own choices."

He turned to address the half empty stands and found himself confronted by a hundred or more faces, all wearing the same expression of fear and uncertainty.

"Today, our leaders have given our surrender to these Persians," he said, his voice echoing loudly from curved wall to curved wall. "As a king, I am bound to honour their orders. As a man, though, I am free to choose."

He reached up and gripped the bronze clasp at his shoulder that secured his cape to his armoured breastplate. With a loud tearing of cloth, he ripped it free and tossed it at the feet of the Persian with copper clang, the Lion decorating it still roaring in defiance.

"My choice is made Persian," he said, and glanced at Nestus and Demosthenes who could only sit and stare in open mouthed amazement.

"I choose to fight," he finished, and with that, he turned and stalked out of the council chambers. His soldiers followed close behind him, their lion faced medallions joining his upon the cold stone floor.

* * *

Callisto stood some distance from what had once been the grandest temple to Artemis in the whole city, resting nonchalantly against the back wall of an inn. She had spent a good portion of the afternoon trying to find this place, as it had turned out that Ithius' knowledge of the Followers' activities had hardly been up to date.

In the month since they had taken this temple as their own, they had taken two more besides it and had apparently burned and defaced a number of shrines throughout Helot town as well. The rumours she had heard through careful questioning of locals, and considered lurking in the backs of shops and taverns, suggested they had even begun to target the temples of Ares within the Inner City too. She had to suppress a smile at that. Much as the Followers unnerved her, the thought of destroying statues to Ares was cathartic. Naturally she would prefer to be the one doing the smashing, but the difference in pleasure she would derive from it was negligible at best.

Finally, she had managed to find the main temple at the center of a large square surrounded by a cluster of old but sturdy houses and even an inn or two. It looked like it had once been a warm and inviting place, and in many ways, she supposed, it still did. It was a long low building, no more than two storeys high. What windows there were, seemed to have been cast out of strangely coloured glass and set firmly into iron frames. The glass itself had been polished to a mirror sheen, and it glinted dazzlingly in the sinking sun, casting strange patterns of light across the nearby buildings. Mounted at even intervals along the walls of the temple were a series of roughly wrought iron sconces and a single yew tree grew within the temple grounds on its west side. At the foot of the tree was a bed of carefully tended flowers, and a wide marble basin in which a deep water feature trickled quietly. Circling it the small park were a number of plain stone benches, all currently unoccupied.

All in all it presented a scene of complete tranquility, but there was something on the air that Callisto did not like. Some vague sense of unnaturalness that made her spine tingle. Slowly, the sun began to dip low behind the houses and a number of Followers appeared from inside the temple. They were dressed in the same hooded crimson robes Pelion wore, and each one carried a blazing torch at their side.

They moved unhurriedly around the temple's walls, lighting the sconces with their torches until a ring of warm light flickered and danced around the temple grounds. A deep resounding bellow of a horn sounded from within the temple, and at its call, the majority of the Followers turned and began to retreat back inside the building. Two did not however. Instead they began to move off in opposite directions to light further open topped sconces mounted on the walls of the buildings around the square.

Quietly, Callisto detached herself from the wall she had been leaning against and followed after the nearest Follower. As the man rounded a corner of the temple and disappeared out of sight of his fellow, Callisto moved in quickly. She up on him from behind, her fist catching him hard in the ribs and driving him sideways into the temple wall with muted gasp. As he turned to try and catch his attacker, she moved in quickly, pressing her forearm tightly across his throat. The man struggled vainly against her, trying desperately to grip her arm and force her away from him.

"Stay still, or I'll cut your throat!" she hissed darkly at him. It didn't have the desired effect. Instead of calming, the Follower struggled even harder, choking as Callisto pressed harder against his windpipe. Slowly though, his thrashing began to weaken, and his eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites were visible as he finally slumped dully, his body now only supported by Callisto's forearm. Gingerly, she eased him down to the ground and began to peel his robes off him, letting out a low groan when she realised he was wearing nothing underneath them.

"You couldn't have worn pants or something?" she muttered to herself as she shrugged out of stinking grey robe that Ithius had given her, and into the crimson robes of the Follower. The robes were large on her, their hem trailing a little distance on the ground. She could only hope no one notice.

She tossed the grey robes unceremoniously across the unconscious follower at her feet, hoping that the stench of urine on them and their generally grubby appearance would lead to any passers by simply assuming he was just a homeless vagrant, or drunk turned out of one of the local inns early.

Quickly, so as not to be seen near the unconscious man, but not so hurriedly as to arouse suspiciouns, she turned and made her way to the temple entrance. There was no sign of the other Follower who had remained outside. Perhaps they had finished their work and headed back into the temple...

She shrugged and stepped up to the doors. They were a thick wood, and the handles were crafted from what she assumed was antler bone; a fitting detail considering this was supposed to have been a temple dedicated to the Goddess of the Hunt. She thought of the Headstone outside Penthos and the sense of unease it had given her. It was the same feeling she had now, but she could not quite place the cause. Suppressing a shiver she reached out, pushing the door open with a resounding creak.

Beyond the doors was a stone antechamber, and already she could see signs of the Followers defacement. What had once been sculpted bronze reliefs depicting Artemis on the hunt, her bow raised high to bring down a magnificent grazing elk, were now little more than scarred and mottled ruins. Someone had carved deep gouges into the metal, and the goddess' face had been subject to a brutal pounding from a hammer that mushed it into a misshapen lump.

She stepped fully inside, letting the door swing closed behind her. A donations bowl at the far end of the antechamber had been upturned, while its contents, dozens of gold dinars, had been scattered across the floor and simply left there to glint temptingly in the flickering tochlight that filled the chamber. Callisto frowned. It was strange that no one had seen fit to collect the coins. Money was money after all, but apparently the Followers did not care for it. She turned away and was about to start down one of the side corridors, when she froze as she suddenly realised what had been bothering her this whole time.

One corner of the room was swathed in shadow, a thick impenetrable blackness through which she could barely make out the stone of the wall beyond. Despite the dancing torchlight, the shadows barely moved, shifting only slightly and even then in ways counter to what they should have. She had seen this before she remembered. The shadows in the Underworld... first in Hades' feast hall and then... memories of a black taloned hand reaching for her as she fled through the grey twilight mists at the edge of the Underworld flashed clear in her mind, and she began to back away cautiously.

For the first time in a long while, she felt icy fingers grasping at her heart, a chill sweat frost upon her skin cracking at the base of her spine. Even that ever-present hollow ache in the pit of her stomach retreated slightly as the sudden wave of fear swept over her.

Then, suddenly, the feeling was gone and the shadows began to move normally again, the firelight affecting them as it always should have. With a shake of her head she turned and made her way off down one of the corridors and deeper into the temple. Occasionally out of the corner of her eye, she thought she would catch the same unnatural behaviour in the creeping shadows that even the torchlight from numerous lamps, braziers and wall sconces could not seem to touch. She did her best to ignore it. She had come here to find answers, and these shadows, creepy as they were, were not about give her any.

Up ahead she could hear the sound of voices, or more particularly _a _voice. It was a voice she recognised all too well as she rounded a corner in the corridor and stepped out into what she assumed was the temple's main hall of worship. It was a wide, oblong chamber and had been emptied of seats to provide more standing space. A second floor balcony ran along the walls above and overlooked the main hall. From the second floor balacony, Callisto could just make out the windows she had seen from outside. During the day, light would have shone in from outside through the coloured glass, casting the hall in myriad different shades, but now, with the sun down and the last light of dusk fading, the only light was provided by the lit torches she had seen throughout the temple. Beneath the balcony, ran a series of heavy columns, and beyond these a number of side passages ran deeper into the chambers of the temple, most likely originally used as quarters for the temple priests and acolytes, receiving rooms, ritual chambers and so on.

What surprised Callisto most was the state of the chamber. All the statues and finery originally dedicated to Artemis had been brutally vandalised. Most of the statues had had their heads and limbs struck off, or at the very least chiseled into oblivion while weevings and etchings had been slashed or hammered upon until they were all but unrecognisable. The worst treated though was clearly what had once been the temple's proudest feature. It was a huge gold statue dedicated to the Goddess, that had once over seen the proceedings of worship with a warm, welcoming gaze. Now though, it was a ruin. Someone had lit a fire at its base at some point, burning and blackening the gold at the legs, while the arms and head had been struck off and heaped upon the altar at the far end of the chamber like some kind of sacrificial offering.

Callisto suppressed a shiver at the sight of it all. Even the cult of Dahak had not been this eerie. They had been a lot more about the blood, thunder and scorching fire. Her kind of people truth be told, but these Followers... she shook her head slightly, trying dispel the thoughts and went back to concentrating on her surroundings.

Filling the room now were at least thirty or more Followers, all of them dressed in the same robes that she herself was wearing. They stood in two large groups to either side of the rooms central walkway that ran the length of the chamber and up a small flight of stairs to the altar upon which the statue's head and limbs had been piled. Just in front of the altar, Pelion was standing, arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture, a beatific smile on his face.

"Brothers and Sisters! I have called you..." he began to announce loudly only to stop short when he caught sight of Callisto standing apart from the rest of the Followers at the rear of the chamber. Callisto bowed her head in mock supplication so none would be able to recognise her, and hoped Pelion did not have keen eyesight. Fortunately for her, it appeared that he had not managed to catch a good glimpse of her face.

"It appears we have a late arrival," he said, his voice nothing but warmth and welcome.

All eyes in the room turned to face Callisto, and she bowed her head deeper still in gesture she hoped suggested embarrassment and apology all in one. She could not remember ever having had to be so controlled before. It was exhausting. She wanted to throw back her hood and pound on Pelion until he spilled his guts to her about just what it was they were up to, but a nagging feeling in the back of her mind told her that would not be the way to go about things here.

"Come, join the others," Pelion called to her. "We were only just beginning."

Callisto only nodded, and moved quietly to the rear of one of the nearby groups of people. Slowly the rest of the Followers began to turn back to face Pelion, and Callisto was about to breathe a sigh of relief, when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another Follower still watching her intently. She stood amongst the crowd of people opposite her own, and was the only one of them now not looking toward Pelion. Callisto turned her head slightly so that she could better regard him without arousing suspicioun, but despite her best efforts, his hood was pulled too low to be able to see his face. She frowned as she studied him. She could not make out his face, but something about the way he carried himself seemed familiar, although she could not quite place it.

Pelion began to speak again, the strange Follower's head swang back to the aged Priest before them. Callisto allowed her own gaze to follow suit, but still did her best not to raise her head too high for fear of being recognised.

"Brothers and Sisters!" Pelion began again. "I have called you here for our nightly vows to our great Lord; he who is the rightful ruler of all that we see around us, he who was betrayed by his own children, murdered by his own blood kin! Long have we, the loyal Followers of his fallen might, mourned his passage from our world, but now, the period of mourning is at an end!"

Callisto worked her jaw as she listened, her mind racing. Why would the period of mourning be at an end now? What had changed?

Pelion turned and picked up a staff that had been leaning against the altar before turning back to face the crowd and descending the steps down to the main temple floor. Slowly he began to move along the length of the chamber, his staff clacking softly against the hard stone floor as he went.

"Soon, we will cut the shackles that bind our Lord within his prison, and when we do so, he will step back across the boundary between worlds to return to us!" Pelion's voice ended in a triumphant shout, then suddenly, he calmed again, casting his eyes left and right between the gathered Followers that now surrounded him. Callisto thought she saw the man who had been watching her earlier stiffen slightly as Pelion drew near to him, but she could no longer be sure she was even looking at the same person. In their robes, with their crimson hoods pulled up, each of the Followers looked much that same as the others.

"I sense the doubts among some of you," Pelion continued. "You doubt our Lord's power. You doubt that he is truly at our side. The usurpers defeated he and his kin once before. Hyperion, Atlas, and the rest, all fell before the might of Olympus and were sealed far away, for all time, and none more tightly than our Lord in the deepest depths of Tartarus itself! How then can he ever hope to free himself? How can he ever hope to triumph alone?"

He reached out with his free hand and placed it on the shoulder of a nearby Follower. Callisto shied as far way from the old priest as she could manage without attracting suspicioun. She did not want to be uncovered, and besides, the thought of that old man touching her made her feel... unclean, as if she would be marred by some terrible stain that would never wash away, no matter how hard she tried.

"I say to you all," Pelion called loudly to the rest of the Followers, "that he will not be alone! We will be there beside him. We shall lend him our strength! Each and every one of us! We have, all of us, been betrayed, hurt or in some way wounded by this world, all of us damaged, cast aside and left, unwanted and unhealed by this, a world presided over by unjust and unworthy creatures who call themselves our Gods!"

His voice was rising now as he began to get into his stride, and Callisto was surprised to find herself actually listening to him for the first time. He spoke with such energy and furor that it was almost impossible not to.

"We were all of us left alone, and in pain, clamouring for that same sweet vengeance as our Lord! It is that pain, that passion, that can embolden him. It will give him a power greater than any Olympian, even with all their 'worshipers' and 'believers', could possibly imagine! So I tell you now, as one, we must offer it up to him! Our pain will be his power, and his power will be granted unto us in return! Think of him now! Our Great Lord, the dead Titan Cronus, once master of all that he surveyed!"

The Followers around her all bowed their heads deeply, and Callisto did the same, feeling her thoughts wander. Was Pelion serious about Cronus? Was there really an ancient, and very much dead, Titan trying to return to realm of the living? How could he even do it? Escaping Tartarus had been hard enough for her, and she had had the help of gods on both occasions. She seriously doubted that any of the gods, even Ares with his questionable loyalties, would be willing to aid Cronus in his return. And even if this was true, how could he cross the boundary? She thought back to her conversation with Charon as he had ferried her back to the land of the living across the hideous, stygian Styx. The Styx was the boundary, he had said at the time. When people died, especially powerful souls, the boundary would weaken temporarily as they forced their way across to the other side. The river had been low then as well. Could it be that the more dead that crossed the boundary, the weaker it was becoming? But then that would mean...

She glanced up suddenly as she felt eyes upon her. Pelion was staring straight through the crowd toward her, his head cocked slightly to one side, a knowing smile playing unnervingly across his lips.

"Remember," he said, addressing the whole audience of Followers, but still watching Callisto steadily, "when you think of the dead, the dead can here you. Hold him in your thoughts when the pain and suffering come to you, and none of us will ever be alone again."

With that he span back toward the altar speaking loudly as well.

"Do not forget the words I have spoken here tonight," he said. "May they serve us all in the days to come. Now, there is much that still must be prepared for before the day of the Return. All of you be about your business, and we will gather again at first light."

Slowly, the Followers began to disperse, all heading off in different directions through the temple. Callisto fell in behind one Follower, a young woman she guessed based the person's size and build, only to duck away into a side passage as they passed it. Breathing a sigh of relief to have a moments respite from imminent discovery, she paused only a moment to gather her wits before turning and moving off quietly down the passage.

She frowned to herself as she walked. Had Pelion recognised her back there? If so why had he not alerted anyone? She kept her ears pricked as she walked, listening intently for any sign of alarm or discovery, but none came.

What she heard instead was pained moans and stifled sobs. Her eyes narrowed, as she listened harder. The sounds were soft and distant, but unmistakeable. Slowly, she began to move off in the direction she thought they were coming from, her eyes sweeping left and right as she moved along the corridor until she came to a nearby junction. Pausing briefly, she peered out around the stone wall. There was no one around, but again, she could not help but notice the strange shadows creeping counter to the torchlight all about them.

Trying to put them out of her mind she listened again. The moaning and sobbing was closer now, coming from behind a door only a few meters away. Steeling herself, she stepped out into the junction and turned left, heading straight over to the door and trying the handle while looking cautiously up and down the corridor for any signs of interruption. Still everything was in the clear, and much to her surprise the door was unlocked. It swung open easily and silently, allowing her into the room beyond.

She stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind her as she went and turned to look at the strange tableau before her. The room was not as well lit as the rest of the temple and the unnatural shadows were deep and strong here. She swallowed slightly as she glanced around, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched, but try as she might, she could not see anyone lurking in the corners of the room. There were no torches and the only light in the chamber came from two sources. The first was a steadily burning fire beneath a huge copper vat, a pile of fresh fire wood lying nearby so that it could be tended quickly and efficiently. The second source of light came from whatever was within the vat itself. It emitted a strange sickly yellow glow that made Callisto feel queasy just looking at it.

The smell hit her almost immediately as she stepped deeper into the room. It was heady, sulfuric smell that hung thick and strong all about her and made her eyes water. Blinking hard against the stinging scent and the dimness that clawed all about her she turned to finally see the source of the moaning. A number of people dressed in the crimson robes of the Followers were laid out on cold stone slabs that had been arranged along one wall of the chamber. Next to each slab was a small table with a bowl laid atop it. None of them had so much as stirred upon her entrance. Instead they all lay flat on their backs, eyes closed and hands folded across their chests. One of them, a woman with dark Spartan hair, dry cracked lips, and white spittle stains at the corners of her mouth, coughed suddenly, and then began to sob quietly to herself. Her eyes never opened the whole time.

Cautiously, Callisto began to cross the room to the side of one of the other figures. As she drew closer she immediately recognised him. It was Marsus, one of Pelion's two Followers that she had first met in Penthos all those weeks ago. She supposed she should not really be surprised to see him here. After all, Perites had been present on the road outside Sparta, and with Pelion pretty much in charge of the Followers within the city, it only stood to reason that Marsus would not be far away either.

Like the rest, he was lying flat on his back, eyes closed, but as she stood over him, Callisto could see his eyes darting rapidly beneath the lids. His hands on his chest were not just folded there she realised, but were clutching his robes tightly in a white knuckle grip, and the tendons of his jaw stood out beneath his skin like rods of iron so tight were his teeth grinding together. His top lip peeled back in a strange, feral snarl that turned quickly to an animal like whimper, but he still never awakened.

Frowning, she turned and picked up the bowl that lay on the small table besides Marsus' head. A faint residue of whatever had been placed in the bowl still remained. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. The same sulfuric smell that hung in the air assailed her nostrils, but stronger now. She glanced warily back of her shoulder toward the vat. Placing the bowl back on the table, she turned and moved over to inspect it. As she came closer, the sulfuric smell grew stronger and stronger until it was almost overpowering. Reaching the rim of the copper vat, she leaned over, doing her best to hold her breath against the powerful stench emanating from within.

It was a strange yellow liquid, its surface as smooth as glass and not even bubbling despite the burning fire beneath it clearly making it steam slightly. It glowed dully in the dim light of the chamber, but, like the light from the fire, its dull yellow glow barely touched the omnipresent shadows. Clearly from the residue in the bowls, these people had either been made to ingest the strange liquid, or had done so willingly. Given the fanaticism of the Followers she had seen, she would lay odds against evens that it was the latter.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of dipping her finger into the strange liquid and trying some herself, but quickly thought better of it. Ending up laid out on stone slabs had not worked well for her recently.

She turned and started back toward where Marsus lay, beginning to feel the anger inside her burning hotter as she stared down at the row of people in front of her, all of them lost and in pain... so much pain... and all of them believing Cronus could take it from them and turn it into... what? Something good? Powerful? Righteous? Callisto was not sure, and the more she thought about it, she found herself surprised that she was even entertaining the concept. Could it be true? Could he really take the pain away?

So many had promised her similar in the past. Ares had promised her satisfaction, an end to the pain and suffering if only she had toed his line. Hera and Hope had been the same, promising her an ending to the pain if only she would aid in their plans, and then there had been Xena. Xena... the thought of the dark haired warrior that had taken everything from her burned white hot across her memories. Hades and Zeus had been next, offering her a peace they had still yet to honour. How would Cronus be any different? The gods had overthrown him for a reason after all.

Still the thought of Xena hovered in the back of her mind, taunting and ever-present, making her blood boil and her heart ache. What good was this pain to anyone? What good could her suffering ever cause? So far it had caused her and those around her nothing but misery. Somewhere beyond the edge of hearing, that same mocking laughter sounded, and she snapped.

Reaching down she slapped Marsus hard across the face. He barely even flinched, only groaning instead.

"You're an idiot!" she snarled then looked up to the rest of them. "All of you are! You think that you can just wish away all the pain? It's not like it's a bag of unwanted goods. You just leave it by the roadside and hope someone will take it away from you for nothing! Fools! The lot of you!"

She slapped Marsus again, this time with such ringing force that it snapped his head to one side.

"It's never that simple!" she hissed to the unconscious Followers, clutching a hand to her gut as she did so. "It gets in there deep, puts down roots like weeds in a cabbage patch. You can pick out the stalk and the seeds, but unless you can dig out every last bit of it, you'll never be free, and pretty soon it will grow again. Even death won't release you from it! You can't just give it all away like that!"

"Why not?" came a familiar voice from behind her. Callisto span to sharply to see Pelion standing at the door to the room, watching her calmly.

"Why can't they just give it away? The great Lord Cronus can take it from them. He can do such with it as you would not even believe."

"So you _did _know it was me down there," Callisto said, glaring at him darkly through dimness. "How?"

Pelion cocked his head slightly as he came into the room. He seemed to be listening for something, but what ever it was, Callisto could not hear it. He stepped into the chamber more fully, his smile strangely warm, but nevertheless calculating.

"Whispers on the wind," he said. "I knew you were coming before you ever set foot in this place. There is much I know about you that you do not realise."

The corner of her Callisto's mouth curled up in a sneering grin.

"Care to share then?" she asked, "Or will I have to cut it of you?"

Pelion gave her look of honest surprise.

"Why would I withhold it from you?" he said. "You are a great woman Callisto, a grand soul indeed, and one that can be so much more than you are now, but only if you listen to me. I know the pain you have in you, and the fear too. The anger burns so hot and hard that it scares you to look it in the eye. So instead you run from it, hide from it, deceive yourself about it."

He stopped a good few feet short of her, just beyond her sword's reach. The old priest may have been crazy, but certainly was not stupid.

"I know precisely how you feel," he continued. "I've felt it myself; all that anger, all that fire and fury. I've felt it all, and the fear too. They burned at me like and all consuming fire I could never truly extinguish, until all that was left was smoke and ash. I hated anything and everything, but I could not face it, could not control it. The fear kept me at arms reach from it..."

He paused meaninfully.

"...until he came into my life."

His voice was as smooth and practiced as Callisto had ever heard. His words dripped like the finest honey, and his tone was all sureness and perfect conviction. He believed what he was saying, without a shadow of a doubt.

"He helped me face my fear, held it up ragged and raw for me to see, and when I had done so, he took the pain from me, and it was like it had never been. I knew such peace then. Peace as I have never felt before, but I feel it now. Deep inside I am at peace, perfectly calm and still, like a pond on a windless summer's day. I find my strength in knowing that my pain gives power to another whose suffering is greater than I can ever hope to comprehend. In that knowledge, I find the courage I lacked before. I face my fears now Callisto. I do not run from them."

"And what about them," Callisto hissed, nodding her head toward Marsus and the others laid out in front of her disgustedly. "You call what you are doing to them peace?"

"No," Pelion shook his head. "I call it fear. It is our fears that hold us back Callisto. Pain blossoms from fear, and we must confront them if we wish to be truly at peace. That is what they are doing now, lying there, in silent communion with our Lord. He helps them, you understand. Shows them the truth deep down inside themselves, for in the end is that not where our greatest fears lie? Do you not wish to feel that same sense of peace Callisto? Do you not wish to finally be able to turn and face the pain head on, to lay down the burden of suffering you have been carrying for so long for someone else to take up in your place?"

Callisto swallowed slightly as thoughts of her parents flickered through her mind. Her mothers eyes stared back at her, judging and disappointed like she had seen them during her first stint in Tartarus, and under it all, that same mocking laughter sounded for only her to hear.

"Yes," she said, and let out a long low breath. "Yes I do. More than anything..."

The old priest smiled delightedly at her.

"...but you know what?" she continued, holding up a long finger as if something had unexpectedly occurred to her. Suddenly, her sword was in her hand, its blade glinting wickedly in the dim half-light.

"I don't think you're strong enough to carry it for me!" she snarled, and as she spoke, she felt all the weight that had been pressing down on her invisibly these last couple of days lift as if by magic. This was not the answer, she realised. These _things_ the Followers were doing... It was just like all the rest of those people who had tried to use her throughout her life, offering her an easy way out, when in truth, there was none. Well, she would not be used like that again! No! Never again!

The anger inside her seethed and roiled, and with a furious scream, she hurled herself forward, her sword blade swinging up high, ready to fall in a vicious downward strike that would cleave Pelion from shoulder to hip.

The old priest was already backing away from her hurriedly, his eyes widening in alarm, but there was no way he could avoid the incoming attack. He was moving too slowly. A grim smile of satisfaction began to spread across Callisto's face as she prepared to end his life.

Then, suddenly, the shadows that filled the room came alive, skittering and dancing wildly, pirouetting madly across the stone of the walls and floor. Suddenly someone was between her and Pelion, a long dark staff topped with a shining silver blade in the shape of sickle whirling up in a perfectly executed parry that wrenched Callisto's sword from her grip and sent it flying across the chamber. The strange newcomer suddenly pivoted back the other way, the staff and its wicked blade spinning around in a powerful back hand strike clearly intended to take her head clean off her shoulders. Acting on pure instinct, Callito ducked low into a forward roll, coming up on one knee behind the stranger with her sword mere inches from her. She reached out an snared it hurriedly as she felt her opponent move behind her, the staff falling toward the back of her skull like executioners blade. She barely had time to get her sword up in desperate parry of her own, the impact ringing like a hammer in dimly lit chamber. Without hesitation, she kicked backward, attempting to her attacker's legs out from under him, but he danced back out of reach, providing her a moment's respite to surge back up to a defensive posture.

For the first time she got a good look at her attacker. He was clad all in black robes, his face hidden beneath a heavy hood and the thick shadows that pooled beneath it. Around him the shadows twisted and danced eagerly, clawing at the stone as if they good sense her presence and were eager to be unleashed against her.

"Well, well," she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant and unimpressed, when in truth her heart was pounding hard inside her chest. "Where did Pelion dig you up?"

The strange figure said nothing. He merely began to move left, beginning to circle her dangerously, like a shark circling its prey in the ocean. Slowly, Callisto began to circle back the other way, her sword held out in front of her ready to block any sudden strikes he might make.

"Did no one ever tell your boy that not answering when grown ups are talking to you is rude?" she called to Pelion, who had fallen back into the furthest corner of the room from her, and was watching with interest as the two of them circled one another.

The taunt was intended as a distraction, but the shadowy figure never so much as flinched. Even though she could not see them, she could feel his eyes on her, and the sensation sent a bead of cold sweat running down her spine. Who was this freak?

She already knew what he was trying to do of course. As he moved to the left he circled closer to the chamber's one and only door, while as she moved right, she was moving further and further from it. She could not let him place himself between her and the door. It gave him all the advantages and made it easy to predict what her next move would be.

Attempting to pre-empt him, she lunged forward, her sword swinging out with a slithering hiss in a neat horizontal slash aimed across the robed man's sternum. His staff whirled so fast, Callisto could hear the air whistling around it and her sword rebounded immediately. She did not waste any more time, moving in quickly to strike again, her blade weaving an intricate pattern of stabs, slashes and counters as she tried work her way through his defences. She might as well have been swinging at a wall for all the good it did her. Nothing got through. She could not even take so much as a nick out of his robes.

As their blades struck off each other, sparks arcing brightly in the dimness she could feel her desperation growing. With a yell of frustration she pulled back, her chest heaving as she realised that during their exchange, he had managed to maneuver himself between her and the door anyway.

"I've got to admit I'm impressed..." she managed from between heavy breaths and motioned toward the heavy looking robes he was wearing "...are those made of wool? Because it can't be easy to move in all that get up."

The stranger remained silent, ignoring her jibes as if she were not even truly there. Instead of speaking, he began to advance on her, his movements all sinuous and serpent like. Callisto began to back away from him warily, in a vain attempt to buy more time while she came up with a plan for how to deal with all of this. He was more formidable than she had anticipated.

The blade of his staff suddenly whipped forward and Callisto barely managed to twist aside in time, batting at the staff with flat of her blade as it passed neatly through the empty air where she had been standing moments before. She got the feeling it had not been a serious attack. She was being toyed with.

"I would surrender if I were you Callisto," Pelion chuckled at her. "Mortius is most tenacious when he sets his sights on something."

Callisto cast Pelion a disgusted look.

"Always nice to have something in common," she spat back, and lashed out with her sword. Mortius simply sidestepped the strike, hooking the blade of her sword and ripping it from her grasp as if it were a child's toy. She heard the sword land somewhere in the shadows, and was about to try and side step Mortius to go after it, when he took another step forward, his staff darting quickly to cut off potential avenues of escape as he pressed her back further and further toward the rear of the room.

Now weaponless, Callisto's eyes swept past Mortius toward the door. She had to find a way past him and soon, but how? That staff gave him the advantage of reach, and made it easy for him to block any attempt she might make to get past him. She could feel the warmth of the vat and the fire beneath it at her back now. She was all out of options.

"No more talk," she heard Mortius hiss for the first time. "No more time. You will make a fine hammer blow to the boundary."

"I'll what?" Callisto said, utterly confused, but Mortius did not speak again, only raising the staff high into the air instead, the blade poised to drop and slice Callisto from head to belly. She balled her hands into fists, her fingers clenching tightly as she prepared to fling herself at him in a last desperate attempt to escape the chamber...

...Which was when the door burst open and a man dressed in the hooded crimson robes of a Follower came crashing through it. He moved quickly and with deadly purpose across the narrow room, catching Pelion completely unawares, as he reached out to grab the old priest.

Mortius span on his heel, the blade of his staff whipping around with a quick but easy grace to point straight toward the newcomer. The man already had Pelion held out in front of him, a familiar looking notched dagger appearing from the folds of the robe to press tightly against Pelion's throat.

"One more move," the man shouted in a voice that was all too recognisable, "just one, and your precious Faith here gets a brand new smile."

"Athelis!" Callisto said, her tone one of complete incredulity. "What in Tartarus are you doing here!?"

The newcomer tugged his hood down, revealing the shaggy shoulder length brown hair and dark brown eyes she knew from Monocles' mercenary assistant.

"I don't think now is the best time to be answering that question!" Athelis snapped back at her. Mortius took a dangerous step toward, and Athelis pressed the dagger tighter to Pelion's throat in response.

"Ah, ah," he said, shaking his head as Pelion winced slightly, a thin line of crimson welling up around the edges of Athelis' dagger. "Take one more step and I'll kill him, quicker than you can draw breath. Won't even lose a moment's sleep over it either."

"Athelis my boy," Pelion managed to choke out. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't you... I know you... now please, put the dagger down and..."

"Shut up!" Athelis hissed at him from between gritted teeth, his voice filled with hatred as he squeezed the dagger ever tighter to the point Pelion could no longer even speak. The old priest's eyes widened imploringly at Mortius and the robed figure took another threatening step forward.

"I told you, back off!" Athelis said, then glanced at Callisto.

"What are you waiting for!?" he snapped angrily at her. "An embossed set of instructiones? You need to get out of here! Now!"

The moment's inattention was all Mortius needed, but what he did next made Callisto's jaw drop. He did not jump at Athelis, but instead threw himself sideways, his dark robes billowing as the shadows seemed to reach out to embrace him... then he was gone, vanishing into thin air as if he had never even been.

All fell silent and Callisto shifted slightly, feeling strangely naked without her sword in her hands. For a moment nothing stirred.

"Where did he..." Athelis began, when, suddenly, the shadows at his back began to twist and crawl up the wall.

"MOVE!" Callisto yelled, her warning coming just in the nick of time. Athelis shoved Pelion roughly to one side as Mortius stepped out of the shadows like they were a doorway, his staff whirling straight down and cutting through the space Athelis had been standing in less than a moment before with a whistling shriek.

The black robed man twisted as he stepped more fully from the shadows, sweeping his staff around in a vicious follow through that was aiming straight for Athelis' knees. Athelis moved quickly though, his dagger flashing low and catching the blade of Mortius' staff in one of the notches as Callisto had seen him do on the road outside Sparta. The metals squealed sharply against one another, then with a slight twist of his wrist, Athelis locked the dagger and Mortius' staff jolted to a stop.

"Neat trick!" Athelis said with a nod toward the shadows. "Now let me show you one of mine!"

He twisted the dagger hard, clearly intending to snap the blade of Mortius' staff in two. Nothing happened. He tried again, but the blade did not so much as bend.

Mortius cocked his head slightly and Callisto got the distinct impression that if she could see through the shadows that clustered below that hood, he would be smiling at Athelis right now.

A pale hand snaked from his robe and caught Athelis by the throat, lifting him bodily into the air as if he weighed no more than a child.

Callisto gritted her teeth hard. Mortius was about to gut Athelis. She could not just stand by and watch glancing hurriedly about for something she could make use of as a weapon. Pelion seemed to have disappeared in the chaos, leaving only she, Mortius, Athelis and the row comatose vegetables on stone slabs present. Nothing was leaping to mind, until her eyes came to rest upon the blazing fire beneath the vat of the strange yellow liquid. A dark grin split her face as a plan began to take shape. And the best part of it was, it was so simple it absolutely could not fail! She reached out and gripped one of the burning chunks of wood from the fire by an end that had not yet been completely consumed by flame.

As she turned, she caught sight of Mortius, still holding Athelis out in front of him, as if he were inspecting him like he were a side of beef from a market stall.

"So you are the one Pelion has been running from all this time?" he said, and turned his hood to look toward Pelion, who, for the first time since Callisto had met him, looked genuinely fearful.

"I mus say, I am unimpressed," Mortius continued, turning back to face Athelis. He twisted his staff sharply, the action wrenching Athelis' dagger from between his protesting fingers and sending it clattering noisily to the ground. Slowly, but with dreadful inexorability, he began to squeeze. Athelis' eyes bulged wide in his skull and his mouth lolled open as if he were a fish on dry land, drowning in the open air. Mortius was so preoccupied with throttling Athelis that he never even noticed Callisto stepping up behind him, the blazing length of wood from the fire still burning fiercely in her grip. She reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You know, you never answered my question before," she said conversationally. "Are those robes made of wool?"

Mortius was just beginning to turn to look at her when she whipped the burning length of firewood around in a brutal swing that took the taller man hard in the ribs. Mortius howled in agony, and in his pain, he released his death grip on Athelis, letting the other man fall to the floor in a daze. His pallid hand flew to his side and gripped the burning end of the wood in a desperate attempt to force it away from him, but Callisto only held on grimly, moving concert with him as he thrashed desperately in an attempt to get away from her.

Suddenly, there was a low, dull thump as the flames caught, and the scent of Mortius' robes burning reached her nostrils. With a final cry of pain, Mortius turned and flung himself toward a nearby wall, the cluster of shadows draped across it reaching out and embracing him into them with open arms. Then only Callisto and Athelis remained, the latter clambering back his feet and groaning loudly. Callisto rolled her eyes. She did not have time to be playing nursemaid.

"Come on," she said, gripping him tightly by the bicep and hauling him the rest of the way to his feet. "We need to get out of here. This whole place is about to go up."

Athelis glanced about her groggily, but with a confused look in his eyes.

"No it isn't," he said, finally managing to fix his gaze on her.

"Just give me time," Callisto said darkly. This whole place made her feel sick to her stomach. She turned to stride back over to the vat of the strange liquid. Still holding her flaming piece of firewood, she wedged it beneath the vat and heaved, her teeth gritting tightly together as she strained against the weight of the thing.

Athelis appeared at her side almost immediately, jamming another chunk of wood beneath the heavy bronze, and grunting as he put his back into it. For a moment, the the huge container teetered on the brink, then with a final creaking heave, it tipped over, spilling the thick glowing yellow liquid across the floor of the chamber. Callisto turned and quickly snatched up her sword from where it had fallen earlier, rising to see Athelis doing the same with his dagger.

Below them the sounds of shouted voices and cries of alarm began to echo through the building. Clearly Pelion had managed to raise the alarm.

"Okay then," Athelis said glancing about. "You're the big bad warlord. What next?"

Callisto glanced at him, then without a word, turned and walked out into the hallway, Athelis trailing behind her. She crossed quickly to one of the desecrated wall hangings devoted to Artemis and held the blazing torch to it until it ignited.

"We get out of here," she said, thinking of Mortius and what they would do if he should return. She moved to second wall hanging further up the corridor, and lit it on fire the same as the first. "And we turn this place to ash if we can on the way out."

Athelis only stared at her open mouthed, then quietly nodded, lighting the chunk of wood he had picked up earlier off one of the blazing wall hangings.

Together they moved off down the corridor, lighting anything and everything that would burn on their way. As they approached the end of the corridor, Callisto began to feel a chill creeping up her spine. Slowly, she turned her eyes widening as further back down the corridor, she saw the shadows pooling deeply and froze.

"Athelis..." she began softly. The shadows began to creep and crawl up the walls of the corridor like grasping fingers, clawing at the chill stone and ignoring the dancing firelight as they stretched out toward the pair of them.

"What?" Athelis said, busily attempting to set light to heavy looking bench.

"...I think it's time we started running."

Athelis looked up at her with a frown on his face.

"What was that?" he said, not having heard her.

Callisto cursed quietly to herself as the shadows flexed like a drum skin struck by a stick and withdrew, peeling back in the firelight to reveal Mortius standing in the hallway.

"I said run!" she bit off sharply, then turned on her heel and sprinted in the opposite direction. "NOW!"

Athelis followed her line of sight and gave a similar curse as he caught sight of Mortius, then turned to dash after her. The two of them barrelled headlong through the halls of the temple, Callisto doing her best to remember map out the passages in her mind's eye as they went.

As she turned a corner she skidded to a stop with a loud shout of warning to Athelis behind her. The torches in the hallway had been extinguished, and here the shadows were thicker than they had been elsewhere. Callisto barely had time to duck as the familiar silver sickle topped staff lashed at her from out of them, whistling harshly overhead as Mortius appeared in its wake. Callisto scrambled hurriedly back to her feet, running back the other away and gesturing wildly to Athelis as she did so.

"GO! GO!" she shouted, her heart pounding as they all but flew through around another bend and up a flight of stairs, Callisto bounding up them two or three at a time. Ahead of her, Athelis called back a cry of caution as they hurried out onto the second floor balcony that ran around the edge of the main temple floor below.

The columns that ran along the edge of the balcony next to them cast long heavy shadows across the dark red carpet at their feet, and Callisto instinctively leaped into high arcing forward somersault as she passed through the first, and winced as she felt something cold and sharp graze neatly across her back. As she landed, she surged on again, glancing back over her shoulder to see Mortius' staff retreating back into the blackness, her blood marring its blade.

"The windows!" she yelled at Athelis, as she recalled the layout outside the temple in her head. "Go for the windows!"

The man nodded as he ran, turning a corner and sprinting for the nearest of them, his long loping strides eating up the distance and carrying him out ahead of her easily. As he reached the window, Callisto saw him pull hard at it, his muscles straining as he tried and failed to open the window.

"It won't move!" called back to her desperately as she rounded the corner behind him.

"We don't need it to!" She yelled back and redoubled her efforts, pushing the last reserves of energy she had into a tilt sprint, ducking her head and flinging her arms up to cover her face as she barreled into the coloured glass. She just hoped this was the window she thought it was There was a brief moment of resistance as she collided hard with the glass, then an ear splitting crash as it gave way and her momentum carried her across the edge and out into the open air. Her arms and legs pinwheeled as she began to fall, the deep basined water feature she had noted earlier rushing up to meet her as she smashed down into it.

Hitting the water was like hitting stone, and all the breath rushed out of her in single pained gasp as her head vanished below the surface, cutting off the sounds of the world around her in a brief muffled roar. For a moment she floated in the water, completely still as her stunned body tried to catch up with her mind as to what had just taken place, and for a brief instant, she felt herself relax, the hate burning inside her strangely quiet. Was this it? Was this how it would all end?

The perfect moment of calm was suddenly shattered as Athelis crashed into the water beside her, causing Callisto to jerk up right, her head breaking the surface of the water with a loud gasping cry as she tried to suck as much air into her aching body as she could manage. Next to her, Athelis splashed upright, the heavy robes he was wearing flapping wetly as he clambered out of the water and into the park, his movements slow and stiff.

"The next time I listen to one of your ideas, remind me not to," he groaned, knuckling the small of his back. Callisto clambered out of the water behind him, pulling off her sodden cultists robes and wringing her water logged hair out as she went.

"Why thank you for saving my life Callisto," she jeered in a mocking, effeminate imitation of his voice. "That tall nasty man with the big stick would have snapped my neck like market day chicken if it weren't for you."

Athelis shot her an irritated look.

"You think you're funny don't you?" he said.

Callisto flashed him her most wicked grin.

"I _know_ I am," she said, and turned to look back toward the temple. The shattered window they had just dived out of gaped raw and ragged back at them, the dark silhouette of Mortius standing just inside and regarding them steadily. Callisto felt that familiar chill run up her spine, but she managed to wave back at him cheerfully anyway. Beyond, from the opposite side of the temple, a thick column of smoke was rising into the dark night sky. The entire east wing of the temple appeared to be on fire, and Callisto felt a brief moment of satisfaction at that.

"Come on," she heard Athelis say as he stepped up beside her. "We'd best be getting moving. The suns down and shadows are all over this square. I don't know how he does what he does, but I'd rather not hang around to find out if he has a range on it or not."

Callisto nodded, and began to back away from the temple, keeping Mortius in sight as she moved. He never left the window, watching her steadily the whole time, his head cocked slightly in the same manner she had seen Pelion do earlier.

When they were beyond the small park and out into the square proper, she turned and began to hurry for the back streets that fed into it. She glanced back briefly, but this time, Mortius was gone.

They were nearly out of the square, jogging for a street corner when, much to both their alarm, a contingent of blue cloaked Spartans appeared, their eyes widening as they caught sight of Callisto.

"Oh, thank the gods," Athelis began, stepping toward them. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see a Spartan. We were just in that temple and..."

As he stepped toward them their shields rattled up into a perfect locked phalanx, their spears thrusting straight at the pair of them threateningly.

"Ummm, maybe you can tell me," Athelis said, turning back to face Callisto, "but did I miss something here?"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was a bit of time in coming as it just became so long. I'm very happy with it though, and I hope you all enjoy it. As I have not beta reader, and it is so long, it has not been thoroughly proofread yet, so may contain a few errors or typos here and there. I will be going through and editing it over the next day or so, but I wanted to get it up so that people who are following along wouldn't have to keep waiting for it.


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